


Ouroboros

by isychiae, jubilee_line



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Gore, Dream Smp, Dream is his SMP character here, Dubious Consent, Fanservice, First Dates, Florida has no basements, Fluff, Gaslighting, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Implied/Referenced Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kidnapping, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Instability, Psychosis, References to Depression, Sad Ending, Serial Killer, Some vague smut ig idk, Torture, Violence, Wilbur tommy tubbo phil bad and karl all show up in the epilogue, aftermath of death, boys crying, but it's painful and fake, cinema, he do be going through it, hence why theyre tagged, like this whole epilogue is fanservice for y'all, please dont hurt us, poor gogy, semi-canon to the actual story, so here are the tags for that owo:, theres an epilogue now:, uwu we wrote this in five days please have mercy on us, we know dream is a lovely golden retriever gaming boy irl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29496570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isychiae/pseuds/isychiae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubilee_line/pseuds/jubilee_line
Summary: “What. The. Fuck.” he mumbled to himself, stumbling back in shock. “What the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!”George lurched back, hands trembling as he fought down rising bile. After the cresting nausea had faded, a morbid curiosity rose deep in his chest. Transfixed, he stilled, slowly crawling towards the shadowed table, fearfully eyeing the shadowed mound atop it. Hand wrapped around the table leg, George dragged himself to his feet, fear clambering up his throat. He took a steadying breath, gaze resolutely planted on the floor. It could still be some weird art project.He knew, deep down, it wasn’t.*George expects his weeklong visit to Florida to be the catalyst to his and Dream's burgeoning relationship. Dream has other (murderous) plans.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Sapnap & Karl Jacobs, Tommyinnit & Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 189
Kudos: 260





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for: abuse, gaslighting, graphic depictions of torture, major character death, and implied sexual content. 
> 
> Okay so, we wrote this for a competition a friend threw in the search for the most cursed mcyt fanfictions. Therefore, this fic is clearly not an accurate representation of these people in real life, and are only loosely based off of their personas in the Dream SMP. Of course if anyone expresses discomfort, we'll take this down.

It had been a strange couple of days for George, to say the least. Going to Florida had seemed like an eventuality, the first line of a new chapter of his life, and a chance to finally,  _ properly  _ be with one of his greatest friends without the crackly static of a discord call highlighting the true distance between them. 

At first, it was great. A little awkward, of course, but  _ this _ was what he had dreamed about all those cold, lonely nights; being able to see Dream, to  _ touch _ Dream, there in front of him, real, solid, all to himself. They had met in the airport, as expected. There was no drama, no running frantically to embrace in the middle of a crowd, no passionate kisses like all the fanfics they had read together had predicted. It was… lukewarm. George had noticed Dream first (contrary to popular belief, he did indeed know what Dream looked like - they facetimed all the time, playing up the bit of George not having seen his face for content) and after a few hesitant waves, which granted him the questioning stares of strangers, he finally caught Dream’s attention. The blond hurried over to him and they shared a very awkward hug before heading to Dream’s car in near-silence, only the occasional small-talk breaking the background hum of Orlando International Airport.

Once they started driving, some of the tenseness ceased, and although it  _ did  _ take a bit of getting used to, they fell into their usual chatter, even calling Sapnap part-way through who, after his initial anger at them not telling him that they were meeting up and him not being invited, teased them endlessly, as was usually the case. After an hour or two it just felt  _ natural _ , it felt  _ normal.  _ George almost found himself thinking that he could get used to this, driving along the highway with the windows rolled down and some Chainsmokers song blasting from the radio, Dream enthusiastically singing along.

When they arrived at the house, George was a little surprised. He had expected a larger house, and was not expecting for it to be in the middle of  _ fucking nowhere _ . Dream had told him that the land was cheap out here, so he bought a small house on a large plot of land when he had just started to make enough money for it to be a viable option and was worried that if it didn’t take off he would have somewhere to live and if youtube did take off _ , like it had, _ he was going to build a new property in its place. Dream had also said that he could go anywhere but the basement, something George glossed over in his excitement. When he got over the fact that it was 20 minutes or so from the nearest town and surrounded by fields as far as the eye could see, he grew to like the prospect of staying there; they could be as loud as they wanted to, there was tons of space, the weather was nice (hot and sticky but far better than the grey and rainy UK, in his opinion), and, most importantly, he got to spend every second with  _ Dream _ .

The days had been lazy and carefree; most of the first being spent with George sleeping after a 10-hour journey situated right in front of an infant who, in George’s words “didn’t fucking shut up the whole entire journey”. The second consisted of Dream showing George around his house, his land, and also the nearby town, and on the third, they streamed, recorded a video and spent pretty much the whole day on their computers as they were so accustomed to doing, with the added benefit of being within shouting distance from the other, of course. They would stay up until the early morning when even the cicadas' unrelenting cries ceased and then would pass out until the sun had already completed half of its venture across the cloudless Floridian sky. It didn’t matter that it would only act to further to throw off their rather ruined sleep schedules, or that they were somewhat neglecting their online presences aside from that one stream, or that Dream would occasionally act quite strangely; George suppressed every anxiety-strewn thought in favour for the fifty that would take its place about how damn amazing this was.

And so there he was, sweating alive in a Floridian midsummer’s night, the thin, navy sheets of Dream’s guest-bed doing little to shield him from the pervasive humidity that the struggling ceiling fan barely cut through. George hadn’t been hit too hard by the five-hour time difference over the past few days, but tonight, it finally seemed to be catching up to him. The evening heat had slowly been climbing since he’d arrived and, although it wasn’t stifling, it was enough to irritate him into wakefulness. And of course, he’d made the brilliant decision to leave his adaptor in England, so whilst Dream was more than happy to lend him one during the day, on this particular night George had forgotten to bring it with him. He’d already exhausted Twitter, Instagram, and his phone battery, and staring at Dream’s walls forced him to listen to his thoughts, face his worries and he was  _ not _ prepared to do that whilst on holiday.

He had just slipped into a doze, swaddled by the crushing layers of a fervid midnight when a crack of light flashed through the door-frame. George squinted, frustrated at yet another disruption and he had half a mind to simply roll over and settle back into his slumber, but the faint sound of a door slamming jolted him firmly into wakefulness, and he suddenly found it incredibly difficult to ignore the thirst that left his tongue little more than cotton in his mouth.

_ It was probably just Dream in the kitchen grabbing himself some water _ . A glass of cool water suddenly seemed very tempting, and George was already pattering down the dimly lit hallway before he was fully aware that he'd left his bed. The hardwood was cool against the soles of his feet, and he instinctively followed the light, a muffled clatter up ahead pushing him further onward. The concept of a midnight snack floated vaguely through his mind, stomach agreeing with what sounded like metal on porcelain. 

George rounded a corner, only to find the kitchen staring him down from across the hallway, door ajar and lights resolutely turned off. Instead, forward and to his right, light spilled from an empty arch, dust rising. He turned, only to be met with a set of scuffed, carpetless steps, lit with a single pull-chain light bulb, leading dimly downwards to a grey, paint-splattered door, and-

Dream, twisting the door’s lock, looked up. 

“George?” 

“Dream! I- uh… was just getting some water.”

The intensity of his gaze made something in George’s spine twinge.

“Yeah, of course,” Dream bounded up the steps, unfurling at almost a head taller than George even when he was standing a step below. “I’ll get it for you! You head back to bed.”

George nodded with a yawn as he watched Dream pad down to the kitchen. As he turned on his heel, the handle of the basement door rattled. George squinted down the stairs, watching as the handle quivered once more.  _ Patches, maybe? Trying to get out of the basement?  _ It was entirely possible that Dream had accidentally locked Patches in.  _ But Dream said not to go down to the basement… still, I should check. _

He slowly made his way down the stairs, stumbling on an uneven step about halfway down, and arriving at the door. It was metal, painted over with grey, a yellowish splatter of paint or something of the sort at the bottom. The handle rattled, weaker this time. George fumbled with the lock, finally twisting it open. 

It was the basement, much cooler than the rest of the house. There was no Patches waiting expectantly to be let out. Just concrete flooring and a clammy, dense air as light streamed in from behind him. George wandered forward, and something shifted in the room, just outside of the light. 

The glow behind him dimmed, a shadow rising dramatically above his own. George frowned at the sound of creaking steps as he groped for a light switch. 

“Uhh, Dream-”

The scrape of metal on concrete made George jump back. It was confusing mostly, but the eerie noise echoing from unexplored darkness sent a chill through him, and fear thrummed at his temple. His eyes widened, trying to make sense of shadowed shapes that slunk closer and closer and then, it stopped. There was no more creaking, no more footsteps, only the haunting presence of something standing right behind him. He started to turn but something hard and far too cold collided with his head with a sickening  _ crack _ , and just as he caught a glimpse of Dream’s face, George crumpled to the ground. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The first thing George noticed was the bright light boring through his closed eyelids, worming its way into his brain. He opened his eyes, but immediately regretted it when he found himself squinting to compensate for the sunbeams assaulting his sleepy face. 

Then, the pain hit.

He let out a groan of discomfort, face scrunching in an attempt to ease the searing agony radiating from the side of his head but alas, it only got stronger.

“You’re awake!” Dream’s voice was soft but full of glee - it almost sounded  _ strange _ to him in his morning grogginess that it was clearer than it ever had been on any of their calls before. But then he registered the slight dip in the bed beside him, rolling over to face whoever -  _ whatever - _ was causing it, and- oh, right. He was staying with Dream. And they had spoken last night, when- 

The memories flooded back.

“You-you-” George stuttered as he pushed himself to the far side of the bed until he was curled up, knees to his chest, back flush with the cool plaster of the wall.

“What’s wrong?” Dream’s voice was gentle, almost painfully so, and his face was only soft and caring. Part of George wanted nothing more than to come closer to him, to feel his embrace again, but he forced himself impossibly further away, shaking his head rapidly.

“No-no don’t come closer,” his voice was shaky and slightly scratchy from disuse, “I- you- I saw-”

“George,  _ what _ are you talking about?” Dream laughed, though not in his usual teasing way but something closer to disbelief, and didn’t move any closer. George struggled to hold Dream’s inquisitive stare.

“But I thought I saw- and then you- you  _ hit _ me!” George managed, finally looking up to see no hints of malice, of danger, on the blond’s face.

“You must have hit your head harder than I thought!” Dream chuckled to himself, and George’s unease started to diverge into uncertainty.

“Hit my head?” 

“Do you not remember?” 

George was confused, he thought he  _ did _ remember, but not  _ that _ .

“You were walking to the kitchen, probably for some water, I don’t know, and you must have tripped and fallen or something because I heard a thud and you were passed out cold on the kitchen tiles.” Dream started to fidget, watching for any sign that George was uncomfortable before hesitantly clambering across the bed to sit next to him.

“I- I  _ fell _ ?”

“I mean, unless some ghost pushed you over or something, yeah, I think so!” 

George let out another groan of pain. “My head hurts- like- _ really fucking _ hurts,” he whined, watching as Dream reached over to the bedside table. He gave him a packet of paracetamol and a glass of water, watching expectantly as George fumbled with the foil, finally popping two into his mouth and downing the entire glass.

“Thank you,” George mumbled, tilting his head back to rest against the wall in a futile attempt to numb the pain. He felt the bed shift yet again beside him and he reluctantly lifted his heavy head up to meet Dream’s eyes.

“I’m gonna go grab something, okay?”    
  


George only hummed in response, closing his eyes and trying so hard to remember what had happened the night before. He knew the “walking-to-the-kitchen” bit was real, Dream had confirmed it, but was everything that he thought had happened afterwards just been the fever dream of a knocked-out mind?  _ It must have been a dream _ . He justified.  _ A horrible, uncanny, all-to-realistic- _

__ “Here we are!” Dream’s voice came from across the room; he had clearly been too deep in thought to hear the approaching footsteps. “I thought an ice pack might help - you’ve probably got a nasty bruise.”

“Thanks, Dream. Thank you for taking care of me too- you didn’t need to, seriously.”

“What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t look after you! I’ll always take care of you.” His tone was light and teasing, but the words held depth in a way which erased any doubt that Dream  _ wouldn’t _ always take care of him. “I- umm- I have an idea which might help- I don’t know…”

“Yeah?” 

“Just- put your head in my lap, okay?” Dream patted his thighs and George hesitantly lowered himself until he was looking directly up at Dream’s face.  _ Now this is a view I could get used to _ , one part of his brain thought smugly before being hushed by the rational part and drowned out by the throbbing pain. “Where does it hurt- like- can you feel where you hit it?” 

George lifted his hand from where it was laying by its side to hover over the root of most of his pain, the most tender, aching part. A second later he flinched at the feeling of something cool where there was uncomfortable heat, but he quickly relaxed into it as it soothed. 

“Is this… is this alright?” Dream asked softly as he brought his other hand up, resting it upon George’s hair. George looked up again and sent him a questioning look, and he only responded by running his fingers gently through the hair on the side of his head where the ice pack wasn’t, soft touches occasionally pausing to detangle knots but never tugging. 

“That feels good.” George mumbled in his somewhat delirious state, feeling the pull of sleep becoming all-too-attractive despite having just woken again.

“Does it?” Dream chuckled, and George only hummed in response. A sober mind would have perhaps felt a little more uncomfortable at this sudden intimacy, especially since George wasn’t a particularly affectionate person, and, although Dream had talked about how touch-starved he was and how cuddly he would be with his friends, with his  _ more-than-friends _ , George was yet to experience more than a few awkward hugs. But George's mind was drunk on pain, and that inebriated mind allowed himself to succumb and fall asleep once again.

*

  
  


When he awoke, they were in the same position; his head in Dream’s lap, Dream’s hand tangled in his hair. As the grogginess of sleep subsided he tuned into what was playing through the phone;

“And then - you know what I was thinking -” Sapnap’s voice was immediately identifiable to George, and hearing his friend’s voice never failed to bring a smile to his face, “what about if we code it so that the mobs- they multiply every time we die or some shit-”

“That’s a dumb idea.” George croaked, wincing at the sound of his voice.

“No you’re dumb - wait - George is awake!” The voice from the phone practically shouted in excitement.

“Good afternoon!” Dream laughed

“Ow, okay, too loud,” George winced, whilst Dream chuckled sheepishly. 

“Well, we should probably grab some breakfast or something-”

“-It’s 2 pm, it’s lunch now!” Sapnap interrupted him, sniggering.

“Okay, well we need to grab some  _ lunch _ ,” Dream sighed playfully, “I don’t know about you but I’m starving. Bye Nick!”

“Bye!” George added as he heaved himself up into a sitting position of sorts, reluctantly admitting to himself that he missed the feeling of Dream’s fingers carding through his hair.

“Does it feel any better?” Dream asked, reaching out a hand to pull George up to stand next to the bed.

“Yeah, I think the paracetamol has kicked in already, and the ice pack really helped too.” George told him as they ambled down the corridor.

Dream turned and flashed him a grin, one George knew that he would never get tired of seeing. “Great!” 

“Seriously, thank you, Dream. Like- you didn’t need to do all that for me.” That level of genuity in George’s voice was quite rare but it went to show quite how much he meant it. 

“Well, I wanted to so you’re gonna have to deal with it!” Dream teased playfully as they entered the kitchen. Memories (could they even be called  _ memories _ ?) were attempting to resurface but George only suppressed them. After all, they were but a figment of his imagination, were they not? “What do you want to eat-”

“I can make my own food, you idiot-”

“Well, I don’t care, you’re injured - sit down and I’ll make it for you.” Dream responded stubbornly, shooing George in the direction of the kitchen table.

“Dream-” George whined but to no avail.

“Oh my  _ gosh _ ! I’m making you food and that’s final! So, what do you want?” Dream laughed, flinging open the fridge to grab a carton of milk and an apple.

“Fine!” George dragged out the ‘I’, “I guess I’ll have some toast, then.”

“Just toast?” 

“Yes, just toast! With some butter as well if that’s not too much to ask!” George rolled his eyes playfully, picking at a splinter on the wood of his chair. 

“Anything for you, dear Gogy!” 

Dream was sent a dubious look at the nickname, but they both quickly fell into giggles. The domesticity, the cosiness of the situation was the final nail in the coffin that those “memories” were just a nightmare. How could Dream, Dream who sat with him until he woke up, Dream who was cooking him breakfast, Dream who’s been his best friend for  _ years _ now be the same person as he thought he saw last night? He laughed at himself for even harbouring the thought that it was real in the first place. Yet still, a part of him nagged that he needed to confirm somehow that the basement was just - well - some basement. And so he decided to himself that that night, he would creep back down, just to check. Dream didn’t have to find out, he didn’t want to upset him by disregarding his plea to not go down there, he just needed to know for himself that the nonsense he dreamed up was all bullshit and then his worries would be alleviated. It made sense to him, you see.

They agreed to take the rest of the day easy, seeing as George’s head was still hurting pretty badly, and so they wasted it away with movies and Minecraft. There were a few moments where George would look at Dream and see something, a certain glint in his eye that made him feel uncomfortable in a way he wouldn’t be able to describe even if he tried. At first, George simply passed it off as nothing more than a deluded aura from his constant headache but when the night was no longer young and he was sure that Dream had gone to sleep, he decided it was time to execute his plan. 

*

He opted to leave the lights off, telling himself he didn’t want to disrupt his friends' rest when in reality he just didn’t want to alert him to the fact that he was up at night yet again, seeing as the ‘jet-lag’ excuse had long since expired. The darkened corridors were now constricting, claustrophobic, as though Dream’s secrets leached out of the walls themselves. The sense of déjà vu he felt from his dream ( _ memory _ ?) was overwhelming, and more than just a small part of him wanted to turn back to bed and pretend the entire situation was just a nightmare. 

When he stood at the top of the familiar staircase, he was surprised to see that, this time, the door was open, the handle no longer rattling but slightly askew, as though it had been partially unscrewed. Any rational thoughts in his head telling him to respect his friend’s wishes and just go back to bed were quickly replaced by sombre curiosity as to what was behind that thick metal door in the basement of a house in the middle of nowhere. He took a step, then another, and another, wincing at the creaking protests of the old wood bearing his weight. It took an eon for him to reach the bottom. _ Deep breaths. You can do this. _

He furtively glanced over his shoulder, stood silent for a minute and with the coast apparently clear, he reached forward and yanked the door open.

It was heavy, almost  _ too _ heavy, and it made George wonder what the need was for a thick metal door down here -  _ maybe for hurricanes? _ \- it’s difficult to think at 3 am in the humid heat, he had realised. All he could tell from the doorway was that there were no windows in this basement - the darkness was all-encompassing; inky black and opaque. After one more quick check behind him, he took another step forward, and another, and another, until he could just about make out the shadow of a table of sorts in front of him, and some objects hanging on the wall. He frowned when the little light there was began to dissipate but it was only when the door clicked shut that he realised why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying it so far! C3 is where all the action starts so stay tuned for that! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic leapt from his stomach into his throat, sending prickling jolts of electricity across his scalp. His vision blurred as he crumpled to the ground, frantically wiping his afflicted hand on his t-shirt.
> 
> “Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygodohmygodohymygod-” 

He hurried to the door, feeling out in the darkness with caution until he reached what he thought was a doorknob. He turned it once and pulled, but it didn’t budge. His heart was pounding, his head dizzy, the headache still buzzing persistently in the back of his mind. He tugged and heaved but no matter how hard he tried the door remained firmly shut.

“Oh  _ fuck- _ Dream?” George yelled, any care for being inconspicuous lost with the stark realisation that he was locked in this pitch-black, stuffy, foul-smelling basement at 3 in the morning, all alone. “Dream!” The reverberations from his poundings on the metal door mixed and warped with his cries, “Dream! Let me out!” 

He had assumed that it would be enough to wake his friend up, but the seconds turned to something longer and his throat was raw, his fists bloody and he slumped against the door in defeat. He dozed off for a… period of time; it could have been minutes, it could have been half a day; he had no way of telling, and after more banging and more yelling, he decided that if he was going to be stuck in here, he might as well have a look around. Despite his eyes having adjusted somewhat to the dark, there was still very little he could see and as far as he could tell there was no light switch on this side of the door and so he reached his hands out in front of him, trailing them along the wall. It was textured and bumpy, with cracks in the paint which caught against his dragging fingernails, and as he walked further into the room, the smell seemed to get stronger. It was difficult to describe, perhaps disinfectant, mould and something distinctly metallic. Occasionally there would be a pillar to step around, or the wall would move inwards, but as far as he could tell, they were relatively bare. He could just about make out the table that he had seen when he first entered and he reluctantly let go of the wall, shuffling slowly to avoid tripping or bumping into something.

First, his hands made contact with the wood of the table. It was thick and smooth; George didn’t know much about tables but it sure felt expensive. It was larger than he had initially thought, rectangular and a couple of metres long; a dining table perhaps. He dragged his fingertips along the wood but halted when they met something slightly… wet, and after close inspection of them with squinting eyes he deduced that it could be green. Or it could be red. Or it could be yellow. He cursed his colourblind eyes which were now practically useless when paired with the darkness.  _ It could be paint _ , he thought,  _ maybe Dream’s a painter? Perhaps that’s what he was hiding from me!  _ But then as he brought his fingertips closer, the smell of rust only got stronger,  _ dear God please let it be paint _ .

Against his better judgement, he reached further, hoping to find a canvas, a paintbrush, metal tubes, anything to disprove the conclusion he was so hesitant to reach. But then he brushed something wet. Wet and cold. His heart dropped at the realisation and he snatched his hand back as though  _ whatever _ he had touched burned.

“What. The.  _ Fuck _ .” he mumbled to himself, stumbling back in shock. “What the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck  _ what the fuck what the fuck _ !”

George lurched back, hands trembling as he fought down rising bile. After the cresting nausea had faded, a morbid curiosity rose deep in his chest. Transfixed, he stilled, slowly crawling towards the shadowed table, fearfully eyeing the shadowed mound atop it. Hand wrapped around the table leg, George dragged himself to his feet, fear clambering up his throat. He took a steadying breath, gaze resolutely planted on the floor.  _ It could still be some weird art project. _

He knew, deep down, it wasn’t.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, George stretched a trembling hand out above the... thing on the table. Screwing his eyes shut, he dropped his hand on it, expecting smooth, cold skin. A gentle confirmation of the reality he was still struggling to accept.

Instead, his hand sunk.

Panic leapt from his stomach into his throat, sending prickling jolts of electricity across his scalp. His vision blurred as he crumpled to the ground, frantically wiping his afflicted hand on his t-shirt.

“Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygodohmygod _ ohymygod _ -” 

George’s breath was ragged, heart pounding erratically as he struggled to fill his lungs with enough air to think, to function, beyond that thing, that _desecrated_ _thing_ lying prone and exposed on the table.

Shuddering, George slumped back against a rough brick wall. As he drew his knees up to his chest, his foot brushed against something that rolled to his left, and George flinched half out of his skin. He reached out gingerly, figuring it can’t be much worse than the unspoken nightmare on the table, and his hand returned with a battered plastic flashlight. Hesitantly flipping the switch, he watched as the light feebly flickered to life, casting the concrete flooring into dim relief. 

He had to know for sure. 

From his position sitting pressed against the wall, George shakily brought the light up to the table-

What startled him most was the expression on his face. It was a twisted kind of peace, beatification, turned sick by the bluish blackened eyes and flattened, bloody nose. The skin on his face was warped, skin split and scratched and stretched, as though he’d been dragged by the head through a field of thorns. What seemed to have once been a fluffy brown undercut was matted with dirt and twigs and that same dark, sticky liquid - blood. 

God, there was  _ so much blood _ . 

Torn, bloodied clothing covered much of his torso, but whatever flesh peeked out had that same distorted, clay-like appearance, marred by fingertip bruises and rivulets of blood. The left arm was splayed at an impossible angle, the shoulder joint somehow sunken and twisted. 

Like it had been ripped out of the socket. 

And the stomach... 

He rose to his feet, frozen in horror at the mutilated body before him. 

His left hand had  _ sunk into _ the stomach.

Black spots danced in George’s eye line and his knees weakened. The torch clattered to the ground, arms too numb to hold onto it any longer. The whole abdomen was caved in, pulpy, bubbles slowly forming in the soupy mess of blood and fabric and- and... 

_ Intestines _ .

George’s knees gave out, and he retched, arms curled around his stomach while panic flooded his veins. 

_ This isn’t real, this isn’t happening. _

He drew his knees up to his chest, head resting against the brick as his breathing spiralled out of control. The acrid, metallic reek of blood only served to press him further into panic, the cold concrete flooring leeching on what little calm he could muster. 

Eventually, the panic faded in a shroud of heavy dread, and George remained, curled in on himself, for what felt like agonising hours. Just him, the cloying darkness, and the body slowly bubbling on the table.

For a moment, he was too consumed by his own delirium of post-panic-attack haze that he didn’t even notice the door crack open, the light starting to flood in. He lifted his head from where it was resting on his knees and his mind was a battle between relief of being released from this  _ hellhole _ of a basement and  _ terror _ of meeting the man who must have done this, having to _ come to terms _ with who must have done this.

“George? Are you in here?” Dream’s voice came from the doorway, and George scrunched his eyes up in discomfort to adjust to the newfound light. He automatically perked up at the sound of his name, especially coming from Dream, but then his mind was going a hundred miles an hour and the tears were back and his chest was heaving and his mind was fuzzy-

“Holy shit, I’ve been looking  _ everywhere _ for you!” Dream practically laughed in joy, flicking the light switch that George hadn’t managed to find in the dark before rushing over to the curled up figure, his grin dropping at the sound of hyperventilating.

“Georgie? Why are you crying- what’s wrong?” Dream’s words were so soft, so emotional and it made George want to be sick even more than he was already, “Were you scared? It’s  _ okay _ now! I found you-”

“Don’t fucking  _ touch _ me!” George growled, shrinking away from the hand reaching for his shoulder. “Get away from me!” 

“What do you mean- is this about that dream you had when you hit your head?” Dream crouched down so that his face was level to George’s, and in any other situation he would have been  _ enamoured _ by it, but it only felt condescending. 

“There is a  _ body _ on the table. Dream, please explain to me why there is a  _ fucking disembowelled body _ on the table.” George gasped between shallow breaths, the hot tears burning his cheeks uncontrollable.

“Oh,  _ that’s _ what you’re so worked up about.” Dream was nonchalant as if he were talking about the presence of an item of furniture, not a dead person as he stood up, strolling around the room while he monologued. “He was an annoying little shit. Kept on coming onto me at the bar, even forced himself onto me at one point, so I took him home and - well - you can see what happened next. The whiny ones are easiest to get rid of.” 

“You’ve- you’ve done this  _ before _ ? This isn’t like a one-time thing- you’re a- you’re a fucking  _ serial killer _ ?  _ Oh my god _ -”

“That’s the bit you focused on? Not that I’ve rid everyone of this- of this  _ scum _ ? I’ve done y’all a  _ favour _ .” Dream’s tone soured a little.

“All this time I’ve been talking to you, you’ve been a fucking murderer? I just thought you were some guy from Florida who liked Minecraft a little bit too much. I thought you were this normal guy with your stupid charming words and likeable personality- god- I  _ liked _ a killer- I fucking  _ loved _ a killer-”

“You  _ loved _ me?” For the first time, Dream sounded taken aback.

But George couldn’t focus on the interaction, his breathing growing shallow as the reality of the situation barrelled back into his head. 

“Dream… Clay,  _ please _ …” George looked desperately up at Dream, whose features had grown distorted in the dim light. He couldn’t catch his breath to form words, but hoped through the tears Dream would understand what he meant. “I- I guess I did, yeah-” George mumbled into the arms he had wrapped around his knees, hugging them to his chest.

“Well, I love  _ you, _ George-

“What-” 

“God- I’ve liked you for so long-”

“Dream-” 

“And now- now we can be together!” Dream’s words were frantic, escalating in speed and passion and it  _ terrified _ George. “There’s no distance separating us- we don’t need to worry about other people or-or what they will think-”

“I _ don’t fucking love _ you anymore you-you  _ psycho _ !” George spat, feeling the coil of tightness in his chest get tighter and tighter, breathing was so difficult but he knew he needed to continue  _ in, out, in, out.  _

“What?” Dream’s pacing halted and he stood frozen, his gaze so intense, so strong that George was worried that if he met it for more than a second at a time he would go blind. “You don’t mean that.”

“No, Dream, I do. I do mean it.” George pushed back, voice shaking.

“No- you don’t mean it, of course you don’t mean it, you can still love me,” The pacing started again, strong hands tugging at dirty-blond locks.”You do still love me.”

“No one could ever love you.” George’s voice was low as he tried to subdue the tremble in his throat. “you’re a  _ monster _ !”

“You’re lying, you’ve gotta be lying,  _ tell me you’re lying George! _ ” he was shouting now, the noise bouncing off the walls of the relatively empty room, surrounding George. He couldn’t get away from it.

“No- it’s the truth! You’ve killed someone; that death- that death is on  _ you _ ! And all the others! How could anyone ever love a murderer!” 

“Stop it- stop it, don’t say that- it’s not true, please, it’s not true,” George looked up and was faced with something he wasn’t expecting; the quivering butt of a gun, merely a metre away from his face. “Tell me you love me, George.” His voice was soft again, shaking, but still holding the same intensity as before.

“I can’t-” 

“Tell me you love me!” He screamed, and George's eyes widened as the direction of the gun was flipped, held flush to Dream’s temple. “Tell me you love me,” His voice was barely above a whisper, each word enunciated, unstable, crazed, “tell me you love me, or I’ll shoot.”

“Clay -” George’s voice cracked, the tears had returned and he was so incredibly conflicted.

“I’ll do it. I will! I  _ can’t _ live without you- I  _ won’t _ live without you- I won’t!” The moment stretched out into minutes, just Dream, George, and the barrel of the gun cleaving a gulf between them. George exhaled shakily, dread sinking lead into his stomach. “I won’t.” 

_ He’s never going to be able to leave. _

“Fine,” George reached out, hands quivering, towards the gun. “I… love you, just please- put the gun down.” 

The gun clattered to the ground, and Dream flinched away from it as though he had been burned. George was surprised to see the tears that streamed down his cheeks mirrored on Dream’s, his head hung.

“Can I hug you?” His voice was small, weak, and the part of George which had liked Dream for the past few years just melted. The other part of his brain was screaming to get away from the potential serial killer, but he was still Dream, still the guy he had fallen head over heels for all that time ago.

  
“Dream…” He trailed off, the conflict plaguing his mind evident in his voice.

“Please-” Dream’s voice cracked, the emotion overwhelming and, quite frankly, giving George whiplash. “Just for a bit?”

“I- I-” He spluttered, desperately trying to think of some reasonable words in a coherent sentence which would allow him to decline and maybe even give him a chance to get the hell out of here before he accepted the plea.

“ _ Georgie _ ?” That nickname. That fucking nickname. Dream knew the effect it had on him, how flustered it always made him. Even with a look in his eye that was dangerous, predatory, the word still made his heart warm.  _ Just one hug _ his mind rationalised.  _ Otherwise he might hurt me. Sure.  _

“You know what- fine,” George murmured, slowly attempting to push himself up from where he was sat hugging himself but strong hands quickly enveloped his shoulders.

“No, stay there- look.” Dream whispered, their proximity not warranting anything louder. He hesitantly placed himself behind George, wincing at the way he flinched away from him but still wrapping his arms around him. Dream enjoyed the way he was practically covering George, holding him close, protecting him, and George was struggling to come to terms with the fact that he did too. They stayed like that for a minute, George finally letting himself give in to the temptation to let himself sink into the warm embrace. Dream’s hands moved soothingly along his arms, down his sides, his shoulders, his hair, before one came up to stroke his cheek. The gesture was  _ too _ gentle,  _ too _ loving but George still found himself leaning into it.

“I’m here, George, it’s okay.” Dream uttered into his ear, “I’ve got you, I’ll protect you.” George felt the other hand move up to his collarbones from where it had been lacing their hands together, brushing along the protruding bone before travelling up further, running his thumb up to rest it behind his ear. The rest of his hand came to rest just under his chin, gently pushing upwards until George’s head was tilted back enough for a chaste kiss to be pressed to his forehead. The grip was soft, but the pressure on either side of his neck started to increase.

“Dream…” George whispered, somewhere between contentment and a warning. The grip only tightened, his head getting fuzzier. 

“Shh, I’ve got you.” Dream was like a siren; his voice was soothing, beguiling, making him forget to panic for a second.

“Let go of me!” George said a little louder, attempting to wriggle out of Dream’s grasp only for the hold around him to tighten, the thumb and forefinger pressed below either ear only getting stronger.

  
“Relax, Georgie. Relax."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well it's getting a little more interesting now for sure!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t like this attitude of yours, Georgie. Don’t make me hurt you.” George’s jaw worked for a second, but he didn’t respond. “Because I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just another check in to make sure you have read the tags and the trigger warnings!

The week that followed was... bizarre, to say the least. George had woken up at some point during the night after his ‘encounter’ with Dream still in the basement, cheek pressed against cool concrete. But the smell was gone. Dream had disposed of the body. And, Dream had handcuffed his right wrist to the metal pipe that ran along the bottom of the left-hand wall.  _ He was never going to leave. _

The first time Dream visited him, he’d brought a cup of water - plastic, not glass, as though he were afraid George might smash it, and use it as a weapon (or worse). He couldn’t meet that gaze. Dream crouched to place the cup on the floor, and stood, towering over him, waiting for George to take a sip. 

The cup was left resolutely on the floor for three hours, long after Dream had retreated up the stairs. Most meals ended in the same way - left to go cold, or stale, and barely picked at when they returned up that dreaded wooden staircase. 

Initially, it was almost as if Dream expected him to talk back, and he often aimed questions at George, fully anticipating an answer, and filling in the blanks himself when George’s mouth remained shut. He spent most of his time down there, whether it was working on videos, reading, playing music or just rambling in a feverish monologue. He brought his meals there and on one occasion even stayed through the night, dozing off on the armchair he had dragged down one sunny afternoon, along with George’s mattress and moth-eaten pillows. To make it seem a little ‘homey’.

After a few days, George finally moved from where he had been almost permanently curled up on the mattress and tentatively took one of the books from the pile Dream had brought him that day. Wordlessly, he reached for Dream’s phone, and after he turned the screen towards him, the phone still tightly in his grasp, changed the radio station. The smile Dream had flashed him afterwards sent chills up George’s spine.

Around four days after  _ it _ had happened (or three, or five - time was difficult to decipher in the dim, damp monotony of the basement) Dream wordlessly yanked George out of the basement to stream. Or rather, to sit demurely beside Dream as he streamed, bruised wrist kept hidden under one of Dream’s crewnecks. In those two hours, George could almost pretend everything was okay, slowly coming out of his shell to joke and return to some tenuous sense of normalcy- which was most likely Dream’s intention: to show the world that George was very much alright. 

But when the chat had gotten a little too excited over the apparent ‘hickeys’ on the side of George’s neck, Dream decided to end the stream, and any illusion of normality was brushed away when Dream dragged George by the bicep down to the basement, ignoring George’s wince as he tripped on the middle step. On the whole journey down Dream had been nattering constantly, at a manic pace, and for once George was struggling to tune it all out. 

  
  
  


“Jesus Christ, now they all think that you gave me hickeys. Great.” George’s tone was dry, irritated, and Dream was slightly shocked to hear him finally break and start talking again outside of the stream.

Dream thought for a second, before responding tentatively, “Would that be so bad?” 

  
“W-what?” The pitch of his voice rose in agitation.

“Why? You said you love me, right?” 

“Dream, stop it,” his voice was filled with desperation. He threw himself onto his mattress, refusing to make eye contact once again.

“But you still meant it, didn’t you.” Dream’s tone was becoming more settled into something more menacing than manic.

“I-”

“You  _ did _ mean it, didn’t you-” 

“I don’t know, Dream-”

“You meant it, you did! You  _ love _ me. Tell me, George - go on!” 

“How could I love you after you’ve trapped me in a basement for a week? After I- I found out that you do all  _ this _ ?” George finally snapped, meeting Dream’s gaze with one just as strong, but almost immediately regretting it.

“You are really testing my patience.” Dream bent down onto his haunches, somehow still overshadowing George, who bowed his own head. There was a sudden firmness to the timbre of his voice that made George swallow a shudder. “I’ve been  _ so nice _ to you! I’ve spent all my time with you, talking with you even though you wouldn’t reply, bringing you things to do, cooking your meals. I could leave you down here all alone, you know? I could leave you down here all alone in the dark with just bread and water, no- no mattress, no pillows, no books, no music-  _ nothing _ ! Maybe  _ then _ you’ll be grateful-”

“Dream-”

“-let me finish.” Dream straightened up, muscle frantically working in his jaw. “I wanted _ so badly _ for this to be a fantastic holiday, where we go on trips, maybe even a date or two and maybe then- maybe then I was gonna ask you to move in with me so we could be together all the time! But you- you and your  _ fucking curiosity _ \- you just  _ couldn’t bear _ to listen to what I said.”

George couldn’t meet his gaze, once again curling in on himself as Dream’s voice raised, reverberating around him. 

“This is on  _ you _ . If  _ you _ hadn’t gone down here, if you had just gone back to bed _ like I told you to _ , we could have been living like before! You wouldn’t need to stay down here, you could’ve gone back, visited your cat, and your dog and your Mom and maybe I would have stopped everything if it meant we could have been together. But  _ you _ fucked it all up.  _ You _ did.” 

There was a moment of silence, and George tensed, head still bowed, sure in that split second that Dream was going to hit him, could feel that gaze unhinged and boring into the crown of his head. 

Only the slamming of that cursed metal door jolted George from his position. Dream was gone, leaving him steeped in the knowledge of his own mistakes. 

*

George was finally dozing, head lolled against his knees when Dream returned. The scrape of the door against concrete startled him out of his nap, but there was no overspill of dim amber light, nor the beginning of yet another delirious ramble. Just that scraping sound.

“Hi, Georgie.”

Dream’s voice was surprisingly curt, which was intriguing enough for George to look up.

He immediately regretted it.

Thrown over his shoulder was some kind of black sack and George really didn’t want to think about what was inside. 

“I don’t wanna see this- please just let me go into one of the other rooms- I promise I’ll be good-”

“But this is all for you! Who knows - maybe if you’re good, I might consider letting him go.” Dream smiled menacingly, throwing the black bag onto the table. There was a thump, and the scrunching of plastic, unwrapping whatever was inside. George couldn’t bear to look.

“Please Dream,  _ please, _ I don’t want this-” George’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Well, you get to watch this time since you were so damn curious about what I do down here!” Dream grinned, towering over George as he approached.

George tried to get to his feet, stumbling back as his traitorous right hand kept him anchored firmly to the wall.

“Dream, God, please just- just... is this not enough? Am, am I not enough? You have to bring other, innocent people into- into whatever this shit is?” George’s voice was rising, panic and adrenaline giving him the misplaced courage to hold Dream’s gaze. 

“I don’t like this attitude of yours, Georgie. Don’t make me hurt you.” George’s jaw worked for a second, but he didn’t respond. “Because I will.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me-” George spat, “You- you couldn’t- you love me, you said it yourself!”

Dream’s eyes narrowed, and George pushed his back against the wall. 

“Dream-”

_ Crack _ . George shrieked.

His  _ hand _ . Dream had ground his heel into the centre of George’s hand. Hard.

Dream watched impassively as George snatched his hand to his chest, breath suddenly stilling from sheer shock. 

“Clay. . .” George’s voice wavered, tears springing to his eyes.

Dream’s hand laced it’s way into George’s hair, gripping tightly and snapping his head sharply upwards to meet his gaze.

“Don’t. Test me.” Dream spoke through clenched teeth, eyes flashing. 

He let go, and George flopped to the floor, sniffling and cradling his marred hand.  _ Was it broken? He couldn’t close it and the pain was... something else.  _

“I’ll fix your hand up later, okay?” Dream’s tone was immediately much softer and George didn’t know if he disliked it more. “But for now-” his words were interrupted by the crinkling of a plastic bag and a quiet moan. “ _ Shit _ .”

“ _ What the fuck _ ?” was mumbled from on the table where, from what George could see across the room, a young brunet lay.

“Now look what you’ve done.” Dream uttered hastily, “If you hadn’t gone and picked a petty argument with me and wasted _ all _ this time, that guy would have still been asleep. He would have had a chance if you were good. But  _ look _ , now he’s seen our faces thanks to you, so he’s got to go.” 

“No-” George gasped, “there must be something we can do- what if you let him go now, he won’t go to the police if you threaten him and- and then-”

“George, he's seen. Our faces. He’s got to  _ die _ .” Dream hissed through clenched teeth as he approached the table. “Just know that this is  _ your _ fault.” 

George wasn’t looking anymore, trying to ignore Dream’s pacing and clattering, the sounds of the man rousing, the growing pit of trepidation in his stomach.

“The tranquiliser should wear off soon.” Dream commented to George, watching as his expression fell when Dream approached once more. Wordlessly he reached for the handcuffed to the piping, gently holding it as the metal clicked open. He took George’s hand in his, shooting him a fierce look of warning before heading over to the table, George hesitantly stumbling behind him. He was cuffed by his good hand to the table leg this time - George sat, assuming it was some sick powerplay to keep him humiliated and pliant under Dream’s gaze, only to be hauled upright. 

“Don’t be scared, baby, look at what you’ve done.” Dream laughed drily, pausing as he took in George’s face, painted with shock, with disgust, with fear.

“Don’t call me that.” George scoffed.

“Are you really gonna talk back to me like that?” Dream asked with faux-innocence, grabbing the injured hand and squeezing it, hard. George shrieked in pain, before quickly shaking his head. “That’s what I thought. Now stay quiet and watch, okay  _ baby _ ?” He repeated the pet name again, watching smugly as George imperceptibly nodded. 

“Ugh... Grayson?”

“What? No.” Dream muttered, preoccupied with manipulating the man’s wrists into slack rope. 

“What’s going on?”

“Shut up.”

George watched, panic bleeding away slightly as took in the sight before him - the man looked barely twenty, and still delirious, somewhat slender with dark, soft curls. The high points of his cheeks flushed against stark, pale skin. Very much alive.

“Dream, stop it. Stop it-” George reached across with his bruised hand, wincing as he tried to tug at the rope. Dream caught his wrist, wrenching his arm back with surprising strength.

“Are you dumb?” Dream barked in his face, his other hand grasping George’s shirt. “If you’re going to interfere, you can join him, you know that, baby?” 

Dream unhooked George from the table-leg, cuffing both hands together and pushing George’s chest, sending him toppling to the ground.

“You could quite easily be on this table, yeah Georgie? So just- just  _ stop it _ . I don’t wanna have to go through this bullshit twice tonight.”

“Clay, you don’t have to do anything-”

“Grayson?” The man on the table whimpered. “What’s going on?”

“Oh  _ come on, _ ” Dream turned his attention to the table. “Hunter, meet George,” The man strained to raise his head, making panicked eye-contact with George, who’d manage to manoeuvre himself onto his knees, “George, meet Hunter.”

“I- I thought we were gonna-” Hunter’s chest was already beginning to heave.

“First off, it’s not Grayson, it’s... Dream. Second, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re not getting laid tonight, or ever again for that matter.”

Dream had turned away, taking a couple of paces to peruse a shelf half in shadow. George shuffled slightly towards the table, aiming to try and loosen the rope, anything to stop the inevitable. The moment he moved, Dream’s head snapped around, freezing George in place. 

“Uh. . .” George’s eyes widened as Dream stormed forward, and-  _ was that a wrench? _

Before he could squeak out an apology, Dream’s hand had once more buried itself in George’s hair, dragging him snivelling further from the table. 

“Stop it. I- god, George, I am  _ this _ close to-” Dream placed a foot square on George’s chest, while his head thwacked against the ground. 

“Hey! Leave him alone!”

_ Oh, Hunter, no. _

Hunter was straining against the ropes, cheeks flushed further, wrists already rubbing raw. Dream turned on him then, wrench in hand, and the cold fist of fear clenched in George’s throat.

“Okay,” Dream smirked, “I will.”

George screwed his eyes shut as Dream raised the wrench, glinting in the soft amber glow of the bare lightbulb.

“Wait, WAIT-”

A sickening  _ crunch _ . Hunter wailed out, terror lacing his voice. Then again. Again. 

Hunter was wheezing, like something wet was caught in his throat. George squinted his eyes open. Dream was panting, leaning on the table with both arms. Somewhere along the line, Dream must have ripped Hunter’s shirt - there were purpling stripes imprinted on along his pale skin.

George’s heart rabbited in his chest. 

“Like it when I pay attention to you, Hunter? Huh? Is  _ that  _ it?” Dream’s voice was low, at a growl. Hunter began to sob.

“No- no more-”

“You’re getting upset over  _ this _ ?” Dream sounded genuinely incredulous, and it seemed to catch Hunter off-guard as much as it did George. “We haven’t even started, and you’re giving up?”

Dream laid the wrench gently across Hunter’s chest, earning a gasp.

“You were so eager at the bar this evening, sweetheart. You even suggested coming home with me. Is this not what you wanted?” The honey in Dream’s voice was tainted - George could’ve gagged right then and there. 

“I- I-” 

Dream grabbed Hunter’s throat, wrench raised high.

“Too bad.”

George watched in terror as the wrench came down, square across Hunter’s face. Blood began to gush from his nose. Hunter was hyperventilating, voice rasping against something wet. 

“I mean, we can end this”, Dream intoned, expressionless as Hunter’s body was wracked with sobs. George looked away.  _ He didn’t want to see this. _ “Just tell me, George. Tell me to end it.”

George looked up, bile rising in his throat. Dream had Hunter by the neck, holding his rolling gaze, the two faces inches from each other. Hunter’s eyes were unfocused, breathing clearing enough to speak.

“I just want to go  _ home _ .”

Hunter choked on a sob as Dream squeezed on his throat, closing his eyes in apparent defeat. George’s blood ran cold, tears of his own slipping down his cheeks. He hiccuped, trying to stifle his own noise in case Dream turned on him.

Dream, however, appeared much more interested in Hunter, his other hand carding through those soft curls, now damp with sweat. His arms were trembling slightly, Dream’s breathing becoming shallow and uneven. Anticipatory.

“I’m going to take that as a  _ yes _ .”

Hunter’s eyes flew open, and Dream brought the wrench hard across the crown of Hunter’s head. 

There was a bloodcurdling scream, Hunter tearing through his own vocal cords to get someone,  _ anyone, _ to help him, as Dream hit him over and over again. 

After a few moments, the screams stopped.

Dream kept hitting.

“Dream, stop it, STOP IT!” George screamed as Dream continued to pound at the bloody pulp of Hunter’s skull. 

Dream stiffened, wrench in hand, and snatched his hand away from the corpse as though burned. He stood, simply staring at the body for an indeterminate amount of time, his grip on the wrench slowly slackening until it clanged against the ground. 

The breath caught in George’s chest as Dream turned to him. 

“Is he. . .” Dream stepped towards him, and George noticed they were both shaking.

He cried out in fear as Dream knelt beside him, scrambling backwards.

“George, it’s okay.” There was something sombre in Dream’s voice,  _ tender _ even. The light reflected in Dream’s eyes in a way it hadn’t before. It made him seem more human. “You did amazing, Georgie, so quiet for me.”

The arms Dream wrapped around him were warmer and softer than George expected them to be, and he gave into the sobs welling in his chest, face pressed against Dream’s shoulder.

“It’s alright baby, it’s alright.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that happened


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They kissed. And it was enchanting.
> 
> Until George opened his eyes.

“George?” Dream called out from the doorway of the basement. He had left shortly after… Hunter to do what George could only assume was disposing of the body. The room was seemingly empty. He cursed under his breath. “George? Where are you?” The only response he got was a whimper from behind the table. “Thank god you’re still here- Georgie, what are you doing?”

George didn’t respond. He sat there, deadly still, eyes wide open, shivering.

“Georgie baby, come on.” Dream cooed, letting out a frustrated groan when he didn’t receive a response, walking even closer until he was towering over the seated man. George only flinched, keeping his eyes planted forward. He sighed, crouching down and pulling the shorter into a hug of sorts. “Come here.”    
  
George stayed limp in Dream’s hold, his arms hanging slack by his side. “You killed him.” He mumbled into Dream’s shoulder, “you killed him and I- I stood there and I watched and I- I couldn’t save him.” 

“That’s all over now.” Dream whispered, rubbing his back in slow circles, “it’s all gone.”

“He’s dead - a man is dead - and I helped! I killed a man, Dream! I killed someone!” He attempted to move back to escape Dream’s grasp, but there was nowhere to go. “He’s dead! He’s gone! And it’s because of me!” 

Time passed. After a week and a half, his hand was finally healing. He was having proper conversations with Dream for the first time since  _ that night _ , and sometimes he’d even talk to Sapnap too. Dream had tweeted out to the fans that his hand had been injured, and for once George was regretting his patchy social media presence in the past; no one suspected a thing. As far as they could tell, this was normal, great even - he was with Dream! They all thought that they were having a grand old time in Florida together. And it  _ hurt _ . 

He was streaming again, in the basement with Dream. Dream had streamed once more after  _ that night _ but George had been sat in the background so silently that not even the keenest-eared fans noticed that he was there. However, Dream had ordered him an exact replica of his setup at home for now: a scheduled SMP stream, one he really couldn’t miss. For an instant, in the voice call with all his friends, he forgot that he was in a basement where a week prior he had witnessed the brutal murder of a man. But only for an instant. He had prefaced the stream with the fact that he was ill so the stans would lay off him since it was inevitable that he wouldn't exactly be acting normal. But Sapnap wasn’t having it. He dragged them into a private call after the stream ended:

“Dude, are you okay?” Sapnap asked, the clack of his keyboard constant in the background.

“He’s fine, aren’t you!” Dream laughed from where he was sitting behind George. 

  
“Wait Dream, you’re here too? Nice!” 

“Yeah, we stream from the same room! In fact we barely ever leave without each other, do we, George?” 

“Yeah…” George mumbled in response. 

“What have y’all been up to? George sounds exhausted, bro! I hope y’all haven’t been having too much fun without me!” He teased, and Dream started wheezing behind him. George hadn’t quite realised how good Dream was at pretending as though everything was normal.

“Don’t you worry Sap, we’ve just had a couple late nights!”

“Yeah, that’s all,” George confirmed softly.

“You know, I don’t think I've seen you since that facecam stream you did the other week - you know - the one where you had the  _ hickeys _ ?” George can practically  _ hear _ the raised eyebrow in Sapnap’s voice.

George stiffened at the comment, but gave a stilted laugh, “yeah…” he paused for a second “I can turn it on now if you want?” He turned to Dream for validation, who gave him a quick nod.

“I mean yeah- I’ll turn mine on too,” Sapnap told him, and his face flashed up on the monitor barely a second later. 

George checked with Dream one more time, who reached over from where he was sitting behind him to turn the camera on himself. All there was was the white-pained brick wall behind them, which wouldn’t give anything away. 

“There you are- and Dream too! Looks like those hickeys have faded well- I’m guessing you haven’t been getting any action in Florida, huh.”

“I wouldn’t speak too soon,” Dream responded with a playful smirk which George knew Sapnap wouldn’t read into, but there was truth behind, “you should see the way some people look at him.” He laughed it off, but George struggled to mask his discomfort.

“Yeah right, says you? You’re literally 6’3, blond,  _ built _ \- I bet you could have any girl you wanted.” George shot back with an awkward chuckle.

“Well, what if I don’t want just any girl?” 

“Yeah, George, he wants  _ me _ , don’t you Dream?” Sapnap joked before breaking into a bout of giggles. 

“You know it.” Dream joined in with the laughter, and George made an attempt to as well.

“Well, when can I come down and see y’all, maybe give Dream a little action too?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows a little.

“I dunno, dude… I told you the house I bought is small right? Only big enough for two, and I don’t think George is planning on leaving in a while… but maybe once it’s rebuilt, alright?” 

“Okay…” Sapnap responded, somewhat awkward, “Oh shit, my Mom is calling for me- talk to you guys later, bye!”

“That was nice.” George broke the awkward silence. “Thank you for letting me stream and- and talk to everyone.” 

“That’s okay,” Dream pulled George into him so that his back was flush with his chest. “If you’re good, you can do it more often, maybe even get back to like before. You’d like that, right?”

George nodded in response, feeling the weight of Dream’s chin resting in his hair with every movement.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, by the way.”

“A- a surprise?”

“Yeah!” Dream laughed, his voice honey-sweet. It took George back to when he’d spend all night dreaming about how Dream would sound when it wasn’t just across a call.  _ God, he wished he could go back. _

“What kind of surprise?” George asked hesitantly, relaxing into Dream’s hold as he realised that trying to escape his grip would be all but futile.

“Well I can’t tell you, that would ruin it!” 

“I guess…” 

“All I’ll say is that you can come and shower tomorrow, and then we’re going out, ‘kay?” 

George nodded again, his face wrought with uncertainty.

He slept away what was left of the day, curled up with Patches strewn across his lap; Dream had started to let her come in with them every once in a while, something that George was so very grateful for. When Dream gently shook his shoulder apprehension quickly overpowered any hope he had about the day ahead. Despite the ever-present nerves, he was admittedly excited for a shower. It wasn’t something he had ever considered would be the case, but just the concept of seeing more than the same four monochrome walls, experiencing natural light, washing week’s worth of sweat and grime off of him, made him happy beyond belief.

“Someone’s excited,” Dream laughed as he noted the unusual spring in George’s step as they stumbled up the stairs. 

George only thanked him in response - there was no point in denying it, and staying on Dream’s good side was in his best interest. He was led to Dream’s bedroom, somewhere he hadn’t actually seen before, aside from in the background of occasional selfies Dream had sent him back when he was at home. It was quite plain: off-white walls, a double bed, a chest of drawers and a few pieces of fanart pinned to the walls, but George wouldn’t have expected anything more from Dream, to be honest. He certainly wasn’t the type to waste all his money on expensive interior decor. 

“I’ve got some towels in there for you and there should be enough hot water left. I’ll go grab you some of your clothes from your room, okay?” Dream told him with a smile as he opened the en suite door for George. In any other situation, he would have swooned at the lovesick expression on Dream’s face, the chivalry of his actions. Now he just wanted to get away from him and into that shower as fast as he possibly could. “Not even a ‘thank you?’” Dream called out after him as the door slammed shut. 

George fiddled with the taps until the water was running as hot as he could stand, hastily stripping down as the mirror began to steam up. He clambered over the lip of the bath and into the hot spray of water. The moment it met his shoulders, tension bled from his entire body, and the nightmare that had been the past few weeks washed down the drain.

And if the water teased painful sobs from his chest, then Dream was none the wiser. 

*

“Can you tell me where we’re going now?” George broke the silence as they finally escaped the smaller rural roads and turned onto the highway. It was surreal to be wearing something else other than that ratty jeans and t-shirt. His forehead had been glued to the window, daydreams filled with the fields and wetlands rushing past them as he fidgeted and twitched in nervousness and anticipation of whatever was about to happen.

“We’re going on a date.” Dream told him, nonchalant, eyes glued to the road ahead of them.

“A- a date?” George spluttered in surprise.

“Yeah! We’re gonna go to the movies and then have dinner!” 

George’s eyes lit up. He was half expecting Dream to be taking him to his death.

“Oh-okay,” 

“Is that alright? We can do something else if you don’t wanna do that?” Dream’s voice sounded genuinely concerned and George was taken aback. There was no hint of that crazed killer in the way he spoke, in the way he acted, and George wondered if he tried hard enough he could pretend everything was normal again.

“What- no that sounds fine. I mean- great!” and the conversation died once again. George entertained himself by counting down the kilometers to Orlando on the road signs, watching the cars on the roads beside them, wondering where they were going.

“Hey, George?” Dream asked, watching as George turned to meet his gaze, “I’m gonna say this once and once only, okay baby? Try and be well behaved for me today.” There was a hardness in Dream’s voice that caught George off-guard.  _ and there’s the crazed killer we all know and love.  _ George shivered at the thought.

“If you’re good, this is gonna be so much fun! And when we get home, I might even let you come into the house again,” George’s eyes lit up at that prospect, “but just try to be good. I don’t want you to end up like Hunter.” George shivered at the thought, greatly uncomfortable, and any excitement about their ‘date’ dissipating. 

“Oh no baby, don’t worry! This is gonna be so much fun if you behave.” Dream’s hand moved to George’s thigh, a movement which should have been comforting but was far from it, “And you know how much it will _hurt_ _me_ if you do anything silly. You wouldn’t want to get hurt, and I don’t wanna have to do that! Now that would make me _so so sad_ but it’s just gotta be like that, alright?” 

George’s gaze was fixed forward, desperately trying to force Dream’s words out of his mind.

“I asked you a question, Georgie. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” George mumbled.

Dream grinned, “Good boy.” 

“I’m literally older than you.” 

“And? I could fucking kill you in an instant. You can barely hold a knife while you cook.” He turned his eyes away from the road and saw how George shivered at his words. “Not that I’m going to, Georgie! Do you not like it when I call you a good boy? Is that it?” He smirked, watching the smaller writhe in discomfort under his intense gaze.

“Yeah- I’m 24.”

“Woulda thought you’d be into that shit- oh look, we’re here!” 

George let himself be led into the cinema, very much on edge. He still wasn’t entirely sure as to why Dream was taking him on a date but he had decided that it would be better to attempt to gain Dream’s trust, follow along with whatever he wanted him to do and at least that way he could live a little more comfortably.

“Popcorn?” Dream asked, lacing their fingers together, as he turned to properly look at George. He almost laughed at the fact that if someone had told him he was going on a date with Dream a few weeks ago he would have had a heart attack for a completely different reason and- “George?”

“Yeah?” George shook away the depths of his daydreaming and focused on Dream’s face.

“I was asking if you wanted some popcorn,” Dream repeated with a smile, his voice gentle, kind. George hated that it still made the butterflies in his stomach flutter a little.

“Oh- um could I get something else, please?” He asked hesitantly, watching intently to gauge Dream’s reaction.

“Of course - what do you want?” 

“Can I get some sweets?” George asked, “For nostalgia’s sake, I haven’t been to the cinema in so long and that’s what I used to get when I was younger!” 

“For sure!” Dream laughed softly, leading George over to the counter. “What do you want, baby?” 

“What do you suggest? We don’t have many of these over in the UK.” George turned to Dream expectantly, running his hands over some of the boxes of sweets, a triviality to him to be honest.

  
“Hmm… peanut butter cups have always been my favourites… I think you’d also like sour patch kids, m&ms-”

“We have those in the UK at least!”

“Do you like them?” Dream asked, and George nodded, “Why don’t I just get a bunch and you can try them, okay?”

“Don’t waste your money, they’re so expensive-”

“George, I’m not exactly short on money, I don’t mind.” 

“But they’re like 5 dollars-”

“I don’t care, I wanna get them for you.” 

George knew there was nothing to do to convince Dream, he had decided that that is what he wanted and when Dream made his mind up, he wasn’t gonna change it. He watched as the bill came up ridiculously high for 5 boxes of sweets but only raised an eyebrow, getting a laugh in response. 

The movie was alright, just some popular superhero film of which George hadn’t seen the previous instalments, but he wasn’t really paying attention to it anyways. He and Dream had each chosen one of the boxes of sweets before it started, and then proceeded to steal as much as possible from the other person’s. The light-hearted bickering was heartachingly reminiscent of when they’d stay up for hours on call, talking, teasing and just basking in the other’s presence. George allowed himself to slip into the mindset that this was somehow one and the same, that ignorance is bliss, or in his case, suppressed memories were bliss.

“Where are we going now?” George asked as they left the theatre, wincing slightly at the blast of hot humidity outside the comfort of the aircon. 

“Dinner! I hope you’re still hungry after all that candy!”

“I’m sure I could manage some more food.” George rolled his eyes playfully.

“You’re doing so well baby,” Dream whispered as he leaned closer, his breath hot on George’s ear, and in all honesty, George had forgotten that it was supposed to be a conscious effort a while ago. Every once in a while his mind would slip back and he would consider just how easy it would be to tell one person, borrow someone’s phone and call the police but he knew it would be better to just play along for now.

“It’s easy,” George admitted bashfully, “it’s just like before.”

“Who’s to say that it can’t be like before anymore?” Dream responded, pressing a kiss next to his ear. “Now let's go, we’re gonna be late for the reservation!”

George wasn’t particularly surprised at where they arrived, it was just the sort of restaurant he would have guessed Dream would have taken him, it was just the sort of restaurant he had thought about going on a date with Dream to in the past. It wasn’t super fancy but the food looked good, it was homey, comforting. 

They were shown to a booth, tucked away in the corner with plush leather seats and two menus laid out on the table. They fell into small talk, ordering drinks, and every time George would almost relax there would be a certain look, a certain glint in Dream’s eye which would bring him back to the current predicament.

“Hey- umm George?” George was taken aback by his earnestness and sheepishness. “Can I tell you something- like something big?”

George shot him an encouraging smile, “Go ahead!” 

“You remember when I was younger and there was all that banging in the background? Well, it wasn’t a construction site like I said, uh- it was my Dad.”

“Your- your Dad? What do you mean?” 

“He- well, let’s just say he wasn’t a very nice man.” 

And then George managed to connect the dots in his head. “Oh-  _ Clay _ .” He reached across the table to where Dream’s hands were rested, interlocking their fingers and giving them a little squeeze. Somehow he had managed to separate the psychotic, murderous Dream and the man he knew from before. His first instinct was to be there for the man he had loved for so long. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“It started when- well it’s been going on as long as I can remember. At first, it was only when he was drunk - he’d get violent, you know, push around my Mom and stuff. But then he didn’t stop drinking. He was always angry, always hitting someone, shouting at someone, smashing bottles, it was- it was a lot. You know, I used to have five siblings. When I was seven or eight, my mom had had another baby - a girl and- and one day they were arguing - my parents - and my dad snatched the baby and he shook her and shook her until she wasn’t breathing anymore, right in front of- of the whole family.” 

“Holy  _ shit- _ ” George squeezed his hand again, watching tears prick the corner of his eyes.

“He used to- to beat me after I got off call with you guys- one time he beat me up so bad I had to go get my shoulder set cus it was dislocated-” he laughed drily “and I hated it! I hated watching the people I love get- get abused and not being able to do anything, I was weak! I wasn’t enough. But one day- one day it stopped.”

“It did?”   
  


“Yeah, one day it stopped; he was gone.”

“Where did he go- God what if he comes back-”

“He’s gone.” 

“Here’s your food!” The server interrupted them, placing heaping plates of food in front of them, leaving quickly after they thanked her.

“I’m so sorry Clay I- I had no idea.” George felt so much for the other man, it was suffocating. He was there when Dream had told him that he broke his shoulder ‘playing football’, where he would complain that his back hurt because he ‘slept funny’. He could hear the banging, the yelling in the background, he was there for  _ all of it.  _

“It’s okay. Can we talk about something else, please?” 

In that moment, he looked so small, so fragile it was almost impossible to comprehend that it could ever be the same man who brought in Hunter. 

When the dinner was finished, Dream insisted that he paid, of course, and as the sun was setting, they took a walk along the lake nearby on the way back to the car. The way the lighting caressed Dream’s cheeks made it seem like he was glowing, the smattering of freckles gracing his cheek dappled in the light, his eyes like pools of liquid gold. Their hands were laced, swinging between them, and George, quite simply, felt  _ giddy _ .

“Thank you for all this Dream.” George smiled, turning to face him and hold the other hand too.

“Was it good- did you like it?” It was almost laughable to see the same man capable of such atrocities worry about whether a date went well or not.

“I did, yeah.” 

“You know, I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have made you watch, I shouldn’t have kept you down there- I should have told you it’s just- what my Dad did- it really fucked me up, it damaged me- I’m  _ damaged _ , Georgie! And you shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

George was shocked.  _ He was sorry? He was actually sorry? Maybe they had a chance!  _ Maybe this whole date thing was them turning over a new leaf, if he could just convince Dream that he didn’t need to be so violent, get him to go to therapy or something, everything he’d hoped for could become a reality.

“I love you. I really do. And I am so sorry I took out my- my anger from my past on you.”

“That’s alright, Clay.” George gave him a comforting smile, reaching up to brush away rogue tears tainting his cheeks. Their gazes locked under the soft honeyed sunbeams and George could have sworn in that moment that he had never seen anything quite so beautiful. 

When Dream started to move in, his eyes flitting between rosy lips and chestnut eyes, it only felt natural for George to mirror, his breath hitching as they froze for a second, so close that he could decipher every little freckle gracing Dream’s cheeks, observe the brown flecks in his eyes which he knew were green but looked so wonderful as gold, his slightly cracked lips.

They kissed. And it was enchanting.

Until George opened his eyes. What he saw was not the man he’d been on this date with, the man he’d been obsessing over for years, the man he had dreamed about for so long. He saw the man who had beaten Hunter’s head with a wrench that it became concave. The man who had locked him in a basement for weeks, deprived him of human contact, of access to the outside world, and that man? That was not the man he loved.

“I- I can’t do this-” George yanked their hands apart, stumbling backwards as if any point of contact with the blond would burn him, sear Dream into his flesh like a branding. 

“What do you mean?” Dream’s voice became increasingly hostile, and they were both aware of the looks they were beginning to get.

“I can’t do this- I can’t do this here- with- with you- I can’t” He gasped between breaths, grabbing at his throat as if it would help him breathe.

“Come on baby, let's go home, okay?” Dream’s voice was soft once again, not matching the vice-like grip on George’s forearm that he dragged him along by.

“No-no don’t call me that- I don’t wanna go-”   
  


“Have you forgotten what I told you on the way over here?” Dream hissed into his ear, flinging the door open and shoving him inside. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you stupid?” He growled, crowding George against the wall. “Are you actually stupid? After everything I’ve done for you, after I opened up to you, after I showed you just how much I care about you, you, you pull that? After everything?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've said it before but please make sure you have read the TW and the tags, and please don't read this if anything in it might be triggering or too much for you :)

The silence was suffocating. 

George watched from the corner of his eye to see Dream’s knuckles stretch white across the steering wheel, dread settling firmly in his stomach. His jaw was jumping, gaze fixed on the horizon. 

The return home seemed much shorter than the journey out. Too short. The seatbelt was constricting, as though he was chained to his seat with no escape. The image of Hunter, held down by the wrists, flitted through his head, and he shuddered. The logical, cynical (pessimistic) part of his brain knew that he was barrelling headfirst to his inevitable demise, but he hoped that he could somehow salvage this entire mess and buy himself at least a little more time.

They arrived at Dream’s house far too soon, the crunch of tires against gravel sounded like an omen. The car braked roughly, George jolting forward and out of his stupor. Dream was out of his door the moment the car stopped, and before George could register what was happening his own door was yanked open, Dream’s large hand gripping the shoulder of his shirt and pulling him, stumbling across the gravel and into the house.

The instant the door slammed, Dream turned on him. 

“Are you stupid?” He growled, crowding George against the wall. “Are you actually stupid? After everything I’ve done for you, after I opened up to you, after I showed you  _ just _ how much I care about you, you, you  _ pull that _ ? After everything?”

George’s back was pressed flush against the wall, head tilted up in an attempt to push himself further away.

“Dream, stop it, I’m sorry, I- I just panicked, I’m  _ sorry _ -” Dream’s hands had curled themselves tightly into the fabric of George’s shirt, and without warning slammed George further into the wall, smacking his head against the brick. 

“You’re so selfish! I can’t believe I spent all that money, all that time, making you happy and buying you things, and you repay me by embarrassing me in public? Do you have any idea how _ dangerous _ that stunt you pulled was? Do you realise that any suspicion could have police at my doorstep, and believe me, baby, they are  _ not _ going to see you as the innocent victim you think you are.” George was blinking back stars, barely registering the flurry of words flying from Dream’s mouth.

“You’re- you’re crazy-”

“Oh, I’m the crazy one?” Dream shrieked, pulling George roughly to the floor. “Because last time I checked, you’re the one that had no qualms about kissing a murderer! You’re the one holding my hand, leaning on my side-”

George scrambled back, watching in mounting terror as Dream stormed towards him. Images of Hunter clouded his vision.

“Get away, Dre-  _ Clay _ , please just-”

George shrieked as Dream grabbed his bicep and began dragging him down the hallway.

“You’ve really ruined everything, Georgie. From day one I’ve wanted to protect you, to keep you safe, and instead, you’ve done everything to get in my way.” Dream stopped still for a moment, his unfocused gaze boring into George’s eyes. “It’s almost like you  _ want _ to die.”

George’s breath hitched somewhere in his throat, as he realised where Dream was leading him.  _ The basement. _

He started to struggle, pulling back against Dream’s iron grip. Dream held fast, tugging so hard George thought for a split second that his shoulder would be ripped from its joint. There was a moment where the hand encircling his arm slackened, ever so slightly, and George ripped away, stumbling to get up. 

Before he could gain any real lead, Dream pounced on him, sending them both crashing to the ground. Dream’s fist is raised above him, and it dashed straight across his cheek. George could feel the blood rushing to his face, dizziness slowing his reflexes. Dream stared at him, face unreadable. 

“Clay,  _ please _ \- I’m  _ begging _ you, just let me-”

A hand began to gently press on his throat.

“Face it, George, you can’t resist me - that’s why you’re so afraid. You’re not scared of me, you’re scared of  _ us _ .” There was a hunger in Dream’s eyes that George hadn’t fully witnessed before, and it sickened him. “You want me, you want  _ this.” _

Something firm butted against George’s inner thigh, and he froze underneath Dream’s grasp. Dream’s pupils were blown wide, their faces inches against each other. He could feel hot, short breaths against his face, mingling with the dull throbbing of his cheek. There was a slight lull in the tension as Dream’s finger’s pressed further into his neck.

In a spur of panic-fueled adrenaline, George closed the distance between them.

The kiss was just as violent as George anticipated, all teeth and tongue. Dream’s hand wandered from his throat to his hair - just like how he’d caressed Hunter’s locks before killing him - and pulled his head back, exposing the fingerprint bruises dotting the skin. Dream presses wet kisses down his throat as George trembled, trapped under him. 

“I  _ knew _ it.”

He sucked a hickey onto George’s collarbone, purple against pale skin, and George whimpered. 

“Oh you  _ like _ that, don’t you baby.”

It was equal parts humiliating and terrifying, being pinned under Dream’s violent ministrations, but that cynical part of George knew they were much too close to the basement for him to fight back. Better to play into whatever sick fantasy Dream was currently living and stay safer for longer, than whatever the punishment would be. A twisted part of George was afraid that, as he leaned in to catch Dream’s lips again, he wasn’t really afraid at all.

*

At some point, in the tangle of limbs and lips and  _ want _ , they had stumbled from the hallway and into Dream’s bedroom. George was manhandled onto the bed, Dream’s hands skimming his waistband impatiently. 

George directed Clay’s attention back to his mouth, and Dream caught his lower lip between his teeth. George thought he could taste blood, and it twisted something painful in his chest.

Dream’s left hand found George’s throat again, and he sputtered as Dream’s kisses dipped lower and lower.

“Wait, Clay, I-”

Dream’s hands hovered over the fly, expectant.

“You wanna do this, right baby?” 

George flushed, heart rabbiting again. 

“Not... not yet.” He froze as Dream’s hand remained in place. “I- I’m tired.”

Dream pulled back, regarding him impassively. George felt the weight of his fears crushing his chest. 

“Alright baby. We can get up to no good another day.”

George let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Dream lay next to him on the bed, arms snaking around his waist. George fought the urge to stiffen as he was manipulated on his side, swallowing as Dream’s chin dug into the crook of his neck. 

Dream slurred something that sounded a little like an ‘I love you’, and his breathing began to even. George stared at the wall in front of him, eyes open for the entire night.

_ He has to get out of here _ .


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was strange that, even after all that, he felt a twisted sort of comfort in being held by Dream. Even if he did spend that time plotting an escape, a plan he wasn’t sure he would ever have the confidence to see through. But still, he had clothes ready in the bottom of Dream’s closet, a spare front door key he’d managed to steal at some point, a couple dollars Dream had left on the couch. It was by no means foolproof, but it was something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, make sure you have read the trigger warnings. this chapter is probably the worst with gore so feel free to skip over that part if you would like

The night had passed and despite everything that had happened after their date, things were... admittedly better. George was allowed upstairs for most of the time Dream was there, only forced into the basement when it pleased Dream (or if he left the house for whatever reason). Of course, every door, every window, every possible avenue of escape was locked, reinforced; ultimately inescapable. Still, George was glad to be able to experience something of the real world again.

He was allowed his phone sometimes too, normally just to tweet something dumb or join a voice call as to not rouse any suspicions - as long as Dream was watching over his shoulder. However, he did appreciate being allowed to contact people once again. He told his mum (under Dream’s instructions) that he had moved in with him, that he’d come back at some point to get his stuff and, just like that, any worry she had was gone too. It almost hurt, that everyone just accepted it, but he realised that if he was in their shoes, he probably would too.

Each night he was allowed to sleep on an  _ actual bed,  _ a luxury he had missed dearly. Although there were some days where Dream had gone off on him, used him as a personal punching bag and, of course, apologised and fixed him up after, where he wanted nothing less than to sleep next to Dream - but even that was better than sleeping by himself on an old twin-sized mattress in the basement. He didn’t sleep much anyway. Although he used to spend so much time sleeping, since he’d moved to Florida it had stopped coming so easily. Behind his eyes were images of Hunter with his pulpy brain smashed in and dripping on the floor, of Dream towering over him, fist ready to swing, of that poor man with the caved-in stomach - he found it easier to just not sleep at all. This took a toll on him, of course, but he didn’t really care - no one cared to notice except Dream, who had only threatened to spike his food with melatonin a couple of times. 

It was strange that, even after all that, he felt a twisted sort of comfort in being held by Dream. Even if he did spend that time plotting an escape, a plan he wasn’t sure he would ever have the confidence to see through. But still, he had clothes ready in the bottom of Dream’s closet, a spare front door key he’d managed to steal at some point, a couple of dollars Dream had left on the couch. It was by no means foolproof, but it was something.

  
  


*

  
  


A week after Dream started letting George sleep in his bed, it happened again. Dream had gone out in the middle of the night, leaving George sound asleep, and returned in a craze with yet another brunette twenty-something to brutalise.

George was noticing a terrifying pattern. 

Dream was even more out of it than usual, dragging George by the hair down to the basement forcing him to watch the entire bloody performance. This one was much more vocal, shouts for help desperate. His will to survive made George nauseous.

“George, meet Jacob!” Dream said distractedly, pulling George to that dreaded table. Jacob was shirtless, face was already marred, his black eye mirroring George’s own faded bruising. 

“Dream, he’s hurt enough as it is, leave him-”

“Boo, you’re no fun,” Dream cut him off, turning to root around the jumbled shelves. George kept his eyes planted down, shame bubbling deep - he didn’t want to look at Jacob, to see the inevitable dread as he realised George wasn’t going to help him.

There was a knife in Dream’s right hand when he returned - nothing fancy, the kind of small cleaver you’d use to chop meat. To cut flesh. 

George’s stomach dropped, just as it had with Hunter. 

“You know, if you hadn’t picked a fight with me, things could’ve been different, Jacob,” Dream leered, eyes glinting like the knife edge. “You’re just as pretty as Georgie here. We could’ve had a good time.”

Jacob’s wrists were bleeding as he tugged valiantly against his bonds, skin rubbed raw. George stepped back, swallowing his heart. 

“Fuck you.”

Dream frowned, setting the knife down, balanced on Jacob’s chest. 

“You should’ve worked on that attitude,” Dream remarked. “Maybe then you wouldn’t be here.”

Dream took up the knife again, setting it against the centre of Jacob’s rib cage. His chest rose to meet it, Jacob’s breath quickening as the blade began to sink into his chest. 

George’s hands were latched around Dream’s wrists before he could register what he had done. Dream let go of the knife, still stuck in Jacob’s muscle, and pushed George off.

He didn’t bother to get up, even as Dream shot him a sharp kick in the ribs. If he did anything else, Dream would have two bodies on his hands by the end of the night. Instead, he retreated further to lean against the wall.

Dream turned back to Jacob, ripping the knife from his chest with a howl. The cut was shallow, especially for Dream, but enough to squeeze tears from Jacob’s hazel eyes. Dream noticed this and placed the knife against Jacob’s throat. 

“You have beautiful eyes, you know that?” Dream crooned, cupping Jacob’s cheek.

Jacob didn’t respond, instead focusing on his own breathing. As though he thought he could actually survive this night. 

Dream’s hand trailed up to Jacob’s brow, and Dream readjusted his grip on the knife still held against Jacob’s throat. 

“Now just remember, if you move, this knife will cut clean through your windpipe.”

Jacob’s brow furrowed, but before he could respond, Dream had plunged his fingers into his eye socket. 

George buried his head in his arms as Jacob screamed. The moment seemed like hours, George cowering in the corner, Jacob shrieking as he struggled to stay still, and Dream rooting around that eye socket until a slick  _ pop _ .

Dream raised his arm triumphant, eye and trailing optic nerve grasped in his bloody hand. 

He dropped his prize to the floor, and it rolled to face George, a sight which almost tipped his nausea over the edge. 

Jacob was sobbing, his locked muscles trembling as he tried to stay still.

“Wow, you actually managed it,” Dream sighed, observing the blood quite literally on his hands. “I’d quite like to go for round two, but I can’t have you screaming like that. This place might seem empty, but you never know who’s listening.”

For a moment, George wondered what Dream saw at night, what he thought was real when in a state like this. 

“So, it’s probably for the best if we both say goodbye.” Dream yawned, bringing the cleaver down on Jacob’s throat. 

There was a kind of rattling, gasping noise, Jacob’s chest heaving as though he was suffocating, and George distantly wondered whether Dream had cut through his vocal cords. Blood began to pool on the floor, seeping out of the wound like tar.

A last rattle... and it was done.

And just like before, Dream had just left him there to process everything that had happened all alone in the very same room. He wasn’t crying this time; he had almost become numb to it, it was all too much and nothing at all at the same time, the pain, the terror, and he couldn’t bear it.

The moment the door was swung open George rushed over, clutching the bewildered man stood in the doorway with all his might. He just needed to feel something else. 

“Dream, hold me.” He commanded, burying his face into the crook of Dream’s neck. He didn’t care that Dream was sweaty, his skin mottled with blood spatters, and he didn’t want to think about it, not now. Dream hesitantly complied, wrapping his hands around George’s back to rest them in the small of his back, rubbing little circles, but that wasn’t  _ enough _ . He needed something  _ more _ .

He took in deep breaths, despising the fact that even when it was so tainted, the familiar scent of Dream’s cologne would still bring him some sort of comfort. He pressed a single, chaste kiss to the hollow crook behind his collarbone, the skin soft and sun-kissed. And then he pressed another. And another. He didn’t stop until his mouth was hovering just below Dream’s ear where he paused for a second, watching as he shivered in anticipation. After a few seconds, he kissed harder, sucking and toying with the skin between his teeth before red marks bloomed beneath his mouth.

“ _ George _ ,” Dream whispered through laboured sighs and breathy moans, gently cupping his face and tilting it up to kiss him properly. If he tried hard enough, surely he could pretend that he was just living out one of his lovesick fantasies from before. Maybe pleasure would be able to overpower the deep-set pain, but Dream pulled them apart for a second, brushing the pad of his thumb along George’s cheekbone, “do you- do you want  _ this _ ?” 

“I do,” George responded quickly, leaning in for another kiss which Dream dodged, nearly stumbling backwards. 

“Are you sure baby? We don’t have to-” 

“Dream, Clay, I’m sure. I want this- I  _ need _ this just  _ please- _ kiss me again.” 

“George stop- let’s go upstairs at least?”

He only groaned in response, allowing Dream to pick him up, wrapping his legs around his waist and continuing his previous assault on Dream’s neck whilst he took them to the bedroom. When he wasn’t making enough noise, he’d bite down harder, hold him tighter, mentally will him to walk faster so that he could just let himself go and replace one sort of pain with another.

“ _ Dream _ ,” he whined, “ _ hurry _ !”   
  


“I’m going as fast as I can, baby!” He chuckled, wrapping one arm around George tighter and using the other to fumble with the doorknob. “What’s gotten into you today?” 

George didn’t respond, only connected their lips the moment Dream stumbled into the bedroom. 

The night was good, but it wasn’t enough. Where George scratched and pulled, Dream would caress with gentle hands. He needed the pain, to be overwhelmed, all-consumed by so that he didn’t have to think, so that he  _ couldn’t _ think. 

After, Dream pulled George back into that well-worn embrace, another “I love you” pressed into the back of his head. George let his mind wander, to anything but the day’s events.  _ Tonight.  _ He decided, watching Dream’s fading euphoria through half-lidded eyes. He felt himself floating out of his own body, watching from a distant, cold, place.  _ It has to be tonight.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter to go! personally, I (arti) think that c8 is one of the best if not the best! what would you guys think about us doing a qna in the comments of the last chapter? since we completed the project in a very short amount of time a lot is left rather ambiguous and a few of you have already asked us things that don't actually get a definitive answer! let us know if that is something you would like to see!
> 
> arti & kat :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gave himself a second to mentally bid farewell to the house that had become his prison, to Patches, to his best friend, his captor, the man he once loved, and then turned around and started running as fast as he could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go!

So he lay there, wide awake, waiting until each breath ticking the back of his neck was slow and deep and steady, and then waited another hour more. He gradually moved out of Dream’s grip, gently freeing himself from the tight arms wrapped around him. When he turned around and saw the peaceful look on the face of his best friend, lover, captor, he almost regretted it. But only for an instant. He padded around the room, sliding on the clothes they had strewn on the floor the day before and thanking God that Dream had forgotten to lock the door whilst they were preoccupied with… other things. With one more longing glance, not for Dream, but for _what they could have been_ , he closed the door painfully slowly, inch by inch, peering through the crack to ensure that Dream hadn’t stirred from his slumber before creeping along the corridor. 

Thankfully his shoes were still where he had left them when they went on their ‘date’, and he hastily shoved them on, not caring that he wasn’t wearing socks - he had no time to worry. This was his one chance.  _ He couldn’t fuck it up _ .

He gave himself a second to mentally bid farewell to the house that had become his prison, to Patches, to his best friend, his captor, the man he once loved, and then turned around and started running as fast as he could. 

He opted for the fields, assuming that the roads would be too obvious and that he’d probably come across a farmhouse or a barn at some point where he could call for help. After a few minutes of sprinting solidly, he cursed his weak body for forcing him to stop, not even the adrenaline could make him that fit and, though the house was but a smudge on the distant landscape, he almost swore that he saw a flicker of light.  _ No time to dwell on it _ . He decided it was time to run again.

It only felt like seconds later that he heard the sound of movement from behind him, coming closer and closer.

“George!” A voice screamed from the direction he was running from.  _ Fuck _ . His knees weakened as he registered what was happening. “George, come back,  _ please _ !” But he didn’t even turn around, moving as fast as his legs would carry him. Adrenaline spiked in his veins, heart beating twice as fast as necessary. The ground here was uneven, mounds a couple metres wide littering the floor, some fresh, some covered with grass and weeds and they only aided to slow him further. One mound seemed very, very fresh.

_ Graves. _

“George, turn around right now or... you’ll regret it!” He tried to ignore the cries by focusing on his footsteps, the heavy pounding of his heart, the uneven land in front of him- but that voice only got closer. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, but if you don’t stop now, I will.”   
  
He still refused to turn back, seeing what could be the outline of another building just a speck in the distance.The harshness of Dream’s promise pushed him forward. If he could only make it there, if he could only-

He lost his footing, sliding down the fresh dirt on one of the mounds. Burning pain shot through his ankle but still he persevered, still forced himself to try and scramble up, only for those familiar arms to slam to the ground once again. He was manhandled, flipped over, caged in by the man he was running from. His eyes were wild, his cheeks tear-stained, and never had George been  _ so sure _ that he was going to die than in that moment.

“George.” Dream’s voice cracked, face blotchy. “Why?”

“I needed to go Dream. You’ve  _ got _ to let me go, please.” He tried to stay calm but his voice was shaking. He knew the pleading was unlikely to do anything, but if he could just get through to the normal part of Dream, the side he’d known for so long, the one which cared so deeply for him then maybe - just maybe - he’d have a chance.

“But  _ why _ ?”

“You’ve been keeping me like a- like a  _ pet  _ Dream! You can’t expect me to live like that forever. I have friends, family, responsibilities back home and- and it’s time for me to go back. You have to let me go.” 

“But I  _ love _ you- you love  _ me _ !” Hot, saline tears fell onto George’s cheeks from above him and he tried to use his emotion against him, move whilst he was weak but it was all too naive, he should have known that Dream would never let himself be weak against anyone. Not again.

“I’m sorry Clay but... I don’t love you anymore.” 

“No!” Dream yelled, moving his hands to grab George's shoulders. “You don’t mean that. Stop it!”

“I do, I’m sorry.” George sobbed, “I’m so sorry but I can’t love you, not like this.”

“How could you say that!” He cried, pulling George up a couple inches before slamming him down again. There was a sickening crunch, but Dream was too wound up in his own agony to notice. “I love you, George! I treated you so well! I loved you, I looked after you- did that all mean nothing to you- did- did last night mean nothing to you?” 

“You. Can’t. Leave. Me.” He punctuated each word with another shake, his vision blurry with the tears flowing freely onto the man below him. “I need you. I need you!” 

George croaked something, his voice hoarse and waning.

“I love you, baby, why can’t you love me?” Dream moved his arms to wrap around the shoulders he’d just been gripping so tightly, surprised when he met no resistance to pulling him into a hug. “I’ve got you now. I’ll- I’ll be better, I promise- you can go anywhere you want- do what you want as long as you don’t leave me and- and maybe then you can learn to love me again-” 

Dream flinched as something viscous and warm was dripping onto his hands. When he lifted one up his heart  _ dropped _ .

“No. No, no, no, no- George?” He lay the man down again far more gently this time, back into a pool of his own blood, rolling him over to find the source of it. The point where George’s head met his neck was mangled and torn, his skull cracked and almost visible at points. Underneath stood the offending rock, large and solid, barely broken.

“George?” He whimpered, yanking off his hoodie to try and stop the bleeding, cradling his head but he knew.  _ He knew _ . “Come on, open your eyes now baby- I’m not mad at you- you can go back to England and I’ll- I’ll never talk to you again if that’s what you want just- just wake up.” 

But George remained unmoving, the stillness almost peaceful- as though he was just another brown-haired victim of Dream’s unbridled rage. The efforts past weeks crumbled like dust before Dream’s eyes.

Alone, cradled in that grassy field, Dream lay with George, arms wrapped around his waist as they had been for so many nights. And as he closed his eyes, it was as though nothing had changed at all. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well there we are! this was a ride and a half, to say the least. to think that we wrote this whole fic, from concept to finality, in 5 days whilst doing schoolwork and the likes? i still can't quite believe it. it's cursed and strange and very much flawed but still. this was our first time working together and certainly not our last; we are currently working on a new fic, which will probably be coming out soon so keep an eye out for that! it's much less cursed to say the least, and will be more centred around angst and fluff! but in the meantime, if you want more dnf, check out [arti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubilee_line), and if you want like to read marvel/dc fanfics, go see [kat's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isychiae) profile! thank you to everyone who has left us lovely comments, and also to those who have been a little less enthusiastic - i hope we haven't scarred anyone. we appreciate that since it is so short there are a lot of questions people may still have about things that weren't fully explained, whether that was intentional or not so please leave any questions in the comments and we will try to answer to the best of our abilities! to anyone wondering, we did end up winning the cursed fanfic competition ;)


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, the long-awaited, much-anticipated epilogue for Ouroboros! This is sort of canon to the main story but we didn't initially have it in mind when we wrote the main story, so you are more than welcome to envision your own aftermath to the event of the main chapter. A massive thanks to [@putthycat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/putthycat)for being our amazing beta reader, even through the emotional turmoil of this epilogue! (also thanks to arti for writing the majority of thisssss). Beep boop hope you enjoy!

_ Hey Sapnap, have you heard from George recently? _

_ I know he’s been travelling but he hasn’t responded to any of our messages about plans for tmrw  _

Wilbur pressed send without a second thought, returning to the editing that he’d been keeping himself busy with. It was only a couple hours later that he got anything back, and the response was not at all what he expected.

He was in the middle of yet another bit where they were using autotune, messing about on their new SMP and having a grand old time when his phone started ringing. Wilbur frowned, quickly muting himself so as to not disturb Tommy’s stream and pulling it out of his pocket.  _ Sapnap’s calling?  _ He thought, confused. He didn’t think he’d ever spoken with Sapnap on the phone before, despite being given his personal phone number a couple of months ago since there had been some talk of a meetup, but Nick made it clear that it was only if they urgently needed to talk to him.

He unmuted himself, almost forgetting to turn the auto tune off.    
  


“Sorry guys, I’ve gotta go for a minute - I’ll be back soon!” He said quickly, before leaving the discord call and answering the phone, glad that it hadn’t gone through to voicemail in that time.

“Wilbur?” Sapnap’s voice was rough and croaky, it made Wilbur frown despite the fact that the other couldn’t see him.

“Hey, Sapnap!” Wilbur smiled, somewhat hesitant, “Are you alright? You sound ill.”

“I- well,” Sapnap chuckled, it sounded wet, quite like someone who had recently been crying, “I’m not ill, I’ll say that much.” Wilbur was confused to say the least. Sure, they ran in the same circles but he hadn’t exactly talked to Sapnap much before, especially not one-on-one. He ran his fingers through his hair as strands got dangerously close to obscuring his vision.

“What’s up then? I’m guessing there’s a reason that you called?”

“God, how do I say this-” He heard Sapnap draw in a deep breath through the static of the phone line, “George… well…”

“Take your time,” Wilbur encouraged gently as his confusion shifted into concern.

“George and Dream are gone, Wilbur.” Sapnap finally mumbled, with what sounded like a stifled sob after.

  
Wilbur just sat there in shock for a second, “What do you mean?” 

“They’re gone- like- they’re dead. They’re dead and I didn’t even get to meet them and - fuck - no offence but I really didn’t expect for you to be the first person I’d tell but, I don’t know, dude, you sent me a message and you always seem to be, like, a proper adult and having all your shit together and-” He paused, gasping in a breath, “and- and I guess I’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

“This isn’t a joke, right?” 

Silence, for a moment. Wilbur panicked that’s he’d said the wrong thing.

Panicked at what saying the wrong thing would  _ mean _ .

“I  _ really _ wish it was.” There was the sound of some sort of shuffling in the background of the call. Wilbur had no clue what to feel.

“Oh.” Wilbur’s reply was small, weak - aware that it was so out of character for him. “Can you tell me what happened?” He added softly, “You don’t have to right now if you don’t want to.”

“No I need to get this shit off my chest- I’m just warning you now, this is a  _ lot _ .” 

“Okay.” Wilbur sank into his chair, a shaky breath rattling in his chest. The overhead light suddenly seems too harsh, as everything around him took on a plasticky, unreal sheen.  _ This can’t be happening. _

“I just, Dream called me, a couple days ago,” Sap’s voice was trembling, not that Wilbur could blame him. “And he was hysterical, he was completely  _ unhinged _ , it was- basically he told me that- _ oh my god _ . . .”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Wilbur encouraged, although he scarcely believed the sentiment. “Maybe. . . go from the beginning?”

“Sure.” A ragged exhale buzzed through the receiver. “So, Dream calls me, and he’s hysterical, and he tells me that- that he’s made some kind of mistake. And at first I’m confused, right? But Dream’s sobbing and sounding really- like- erratic about everything and I can barely get him to say a coherent sentence at first. And then. . . it all kind of came out.”

Sapnap paused, and Wilbur stayed silent on the other end, dread settling cold in his stomach. 

“Apparently, George and Dream had some kind of  _ relationship _ , or at least Dream _ thought _ they had some kind of relationship, and Dream was intent on having this perfect trip where George would magically want to stay forever and they could live happily ever after, and it. . . it didn’t work out that way.” He was clearly hesitant, and the layer of euphemism did nothing but exacerbate Wilbur’s mounting anxieties.

“Okay this is only gonna get heavier, and I’m probably going to cry so,” Nick’s voice thickened, “anyways, Clay told me that he has this problem where he has these episodes, and he’s not in control of himself and he’d mentioned them a couple years back but not really what happened during them but he said that during them- like- during these episodes people get hurt-”

Wilbur’s heart dropped.

“But I had no idea he was dealing with something so severe, and he was so erratic I thought he was hallucinating, until he started telling me about all the people he- he-” Nick stopped abruptly, an audible sniff crackling across the line.

“The people he hurt?” Wilbur prompted.

“No, the- the people he  _ killed _ .” 

A sudden wave of dizziness washed over Wilbur, his heart jumping into his throat.

“Gimme a second, I need to process what you just said.” Wilbur managed to croak out. 

_ Dream - Clay - killed someone. Multiple people. _

“Okay.  _ Okay _ . He… killed people?” Wilbur’s own hands were trembling in his lap.

“Yeah, I mean he said that it- he wasn’t exactly in control, but it’s. . . it’s not an excuse. It all started when his Dad- well - his dad was abusive. It was really bad, he’d always talk to me after it happened ‘cus he didn’t want to worry George but then one day a few years ago… his Dad was just- he was just  _ gone _ .”

“You think he  _ killed his own father _ ?” 

“I- I’m pretty sure he did. Or at  _ least _ , scared him away. And it was the  _ power _ , you know? He tried to explain it to me one time, I don’t- I don’t really remember exactly what he said but it was to do with feeling powerful, hurting someone rather than being hurt, I guess, but anyway.” Sapnap drew in a shaky, gasping breath. There was shuffling on the other side, as though he was moving around. Pacing. “I just, I can’t believe he was dealing with something so serious mentally and didn’t. . . reach out? Like yeah, he’d mentioned these- these episodes once or twice but I never knew they were like- like  _ this. _ ” Nick’s voice sounded uncharacteristically small. “oh my gosh I should have forced him to get therapy back then-  _ Jesus Christ _ if I had just made him get help last year- last year then George-” There were audible sobs across the line and Wilbur’s heart sank.

“Hey- Nick? None of this is your fault, okay? None of this is your fault.” The words feel like sand in Wilbur’s mouth. 

“But- but if I had just listened to my gut and done something about it- I know he said that it was all under control but I- I  _ should have known _ !”

“You had no way of knowing, right? Please don’t blame yourself,” Wilbur paused for a second, hearing the continuation of his crying, “you can stop now if you want- you don’t need to tell me everything now if you don’t want to.”

“No I wanna do it now- I need to get it all out at once, you know?”

“Okay.”

“George had apparently found this out one way or another and so, Dream decided to keep him in the basement or something? I don’t know, dude. Something to do with wanting to protect him and stopping him from- from calling the police? And he and George had this thing going on and- and he said that sometimes it was just like they were dating and everything but other times George was terrified of him and he hated it but he couldn’t help it- he couldn’t stop. And I don’t know if he was telling the truth but he said he was gonna try and stop for- for George. But then a few days ago George- he- he tried- he tried to run away and Clay, he went after him- something to do with it being unsafe ‘cus he lives in this house which is in- like- the middle of nowhere but when he caught up to George he- he-” Sapnap paused for a second; it was clear he had fully broken down, “he  _ killed _ him, Wilbur!  _ He killed George _ .” 

Something inside of Wilbur broke. He had tried so hard to keep the tears down, to be strong for Sapnap but he just. . .  _ couldn’t _ , anymore.

  
“And he kept on saying it was an accident and he didn’t mean to and- and- he was so distraught, and then- and then he started to say goodbye. I wasn’t sure what to expect but when he started to say how much he- he loved me and how he would miss me I knew - I  _ knew _ \- what was going to happen. I tried my best to stop him, to talk him out of it but he wouldn’t listen! I tried everything I could think of -  _ everything _ \- but it wasn’t enough. All he could say was that he didn’t want to live without George and. . . the line just went  _ silent. _ ”   
  


“Oh,  _ Nick _ .” Wilbur tried his best to comfort the man but he was really struggling with it himself. There was a pause between them, Wilbur could only assume that Sapnap was composing himself to continue but he didn’t want to push him.

“I sat on the line with him for 10 minutes.” Sapnap finally said. The words were empty, dead. Rather fitting. “I sat on the phone with him while it was silent for 10 whole minutes, trying to convince him not to do it, and then,” there was a sob, “and then I finally called the police. I used my home phone so I could stay on the call with Dream in case he- in case he was still there but- but there was never anything else. The police told me that they were both dead on arrival. I’ve had to go down there to tell them everything I know and- and they told me they found fourteen bodies, all buried in one of the fields by his house.”

  
“ _ Fourteen _ ?” Wilbur whispered, 

Sapnap stifled a sob, “Fourteen, and- and you can’t tell anyone most of what happened ‘cus it’s an ongoing investigation, but. . . if you could you tell Tommy and Tubbo- I know you’re meeting up with them tomorrow right? I think you’re the best person to tell them.”

“I don’t know if I  _ can _ .” Wilbur choked through tears.

“Please- they need to find out somehow before we tell people that they’re gone or- or it’s leaked or something and you telling them in person I think- I think that that’s the best way to do it- the  _ kindest _ way to do it.”

Wilbur swallowed the lump which had been lodged permanently in his throat throughout the conversation, using his sleeve to clear his blurry eyes from the tears which had been plaguing him all this time only for them to return moments later, “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Thank you- and thank you for listening to me I know- I know this must be hard for you to hear but- but- they were my closest friends- they were  _ everything _ to me, and now they’re both gone and I  _ don’t know what to do _ ! I didn’t even get to meet them and- and now I won’t  _ ever _ be able to.” Whatever he had been holding back was let loose, and what sounded like uncontrollable sobs made their way through Wilbur’s phone, only making his own tears fall faster.

“I’m so sorry-I’m  _ so _ sorry Nick. I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“Me neither.”

Wilbur took a second to compose himself, to make it so that speaking was possible whilst crying so hard.

“I know we’re not exactly close but you can always talk to me, Nick. Like seriously, I mean it. I don’t care what time of day it is, call my phone and I’ll pick up and be there.”

“Thanks, Wilbur. That really means a lot.” Sapnap sniffled,

“Have you thought about talking to Bad? I think that might be good.”

“He keeps on texting me,” Sapnap chuckles wetly, “he always sends good morning and good night messages, silly memes and all that and at least they make me smile for a bit-  _ shit _ , I bet he still sends them to- to  _ them _ too. I think you’re right. He’s gotta know next.”

After a few more words, reassurances and goodbyes, Wilbur was sat at his desk with the unbearable silence and the knowledge of something so heavy he had no clue how to even start to comprehend it. 

_ Change of plans for tomorrow,  _ he typed out in their group chat with Tommy, Tubbo and George,  _ come directly to my house. _

He couldn’t bring himself to answer any of the questioning messages that were sent back from the two.

*

There were three knocks on the door; firm and rapid in succession, and Wilbur forced himself up, consumed with dread. He’d spent almost every moment since that call in his bed, lying flat on his back, barely moving. He hadn’t eaten, he hadn’t slept, and he barely managed to drag himself to have a shower knowing that he couldn’t greet Tommy and Tubbo in this state. He thought a shower might help, but the scalding water did nothing more than to bake in the thoughts, ingrain them into the pores of his skin, every other second his friends were back in the forefront of his mind like they were haunting him. Perhaps, in a way, they were. 

So he lugged his uncooperative body up from the bed and ran a tentative hand through his now-unruly hair and just about managing mild relief when it was no longer wet. He gave himself a second to think, to attempt to clear the blizzard in his mind so that he could at least make the pair feel comfortable with him and only realised quite how long he had been standing there when the knocks at the door returned, along with the sound of a rather distinctive voice.

“Wilbur? You there?” Tommy’s shouts were muffled but undeniably him and it made him smile, albeit barely. He walked as fast as he physically could (which wasn’t much more than a shuffle), drawing in a deep breath before unlatching the door.

“Tommy!” He tried to sound enthusiastic but it came out flat, almost sarcastic sounding. He wordlessly pulled the boy into a hug, the need for comfort from someone crashing into him.

“Toby says he’ll be here in a moment,” Tommy started to ramble as they pulled apart, but paused as he finally got a moment to take a good look at Wilbur, “you good, Will?”

Wilbur didn’t know how to respond without blatantly lying, so he ignored the question. “Do you want a cup of tea? I got a six-pack of those cokes you like in the fridge too if you’d rather that.”

Tommy frowned, but didn’t make another comment, “oh- yeah a coke would be great, thanks.” he watched Wilbur’s sluggish movements and dazed demeanor as he sat himself down at the kitchen table.

“Seriously, man, are you alright?” He asked once more as he was handed the drink. Tommy took cautious sips, watching as Wilbur threw himself onto an armchair, burying his head in his hands. “I can come back another time if you want- if now isn’t great then Toby and I can just go off and y’know…” 

Wilbur sighed, looking up to meet Tommy’s concerned gaze and forcing the best smile that he could. How was he meant to do this? No-one had prepared him to tell two kids who had practically become his younger brothers that their friends were dead. 

“No no no, don't worry. I’m sorry about this Tommy.”

“Sorry about what? If you’re not feeling great today that’s not something you can control you know! I know how you get sometimes and if it’s just one of those days-”

“-Let’s just wait until he arrives, okay?” He kept his voice soft, trying his best to ease any worries Tommy had for the time being.

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Tommy replied. Wilbur wished he could remedy the dejection in Tommy’s voice but he didn’t know what else to do aside from switch on the TV, letting BBC news fill the void of sound in the room.

A few minutes later, there was another set of knocks.

“I’ll get it,” Wilbur sighed, hating the uneasy look on Tommy’s face and not wanting to think about the fact that it was only about to get worse with the imminent news that lay dormant, pressuring every thought in his mind.

As expected, behind the door was Tubbo, bright-eyed and grinning. He gave a quick thumb’s up to his father, who had been sitting in the car on the road outside and pulled away once he saw the gesture. 

  
“Wilbur!” He smiled as Wilbur pulled him into an awkward side-hug of sorts, laughing at the enormous height difference between them.

“Hi, Tubbo.” Wilbur tried his very best to sound genuinely happy.

Wilbur’s heart ached as he saw the excitement that the two shared in being together in real life once again - it had been almost a year. He couldn’t bear to think that he was going to have to be the one to bring them down from that, to ruin this trip that they had all been so excited for. He offered Tubbo a drink, which he politely declined, and then sat them both down on the sofa, taking nervous sips of his tea which were scalding his mouth but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Look, I really didn’t want the trip to have gone this way but I have got to… tell you both something. I’m really sorry; this will definitely ruin our trip but we- but Sapnap and I have decided that this was the best way to tell you both.”

“Wilbur, what’s going on?” Tubbo asked hesitantly, turning to look at Tommy, whose expression held the same confusion.

“Is this some kinda prank? Is there a camera somewhere- where’s the camera, this isn’t very funny-”

“Tommy there is no camera.” Wilbur cut him off, drawing in a deep breath through a throat which felt like it was constricting tighter by the second. “This is serious.”

“Okay then.” Was all Tommy responded with, fidgeting with a loose thread on the sleeve of his top.

“So- oh _ fuck, _ I don’t know how to do this-” Wilbur’s voice was thick with emotion, cracking as he held back the all-too-familiar tears pricking at his eyes.  _ No, he had to get through this as calmly as possible for them. Getting upset would only make things worse. _ “So you know how- how Dream and George- well- they haven’t exactly been around much recently?” 

Tommy and Tubbo both nodded. It was clear to them that something bad had happened just from the state of Wilbur.

“How do I say this- Dream and George… well… they’ve both passed.”

“What do you mean ‘passed’? I spoke to Dream a few days ago and he was fine! This isn’t funny, Will.”

“Tommy,” Tubbo shot him a look, and it was only then that Tommy noticed Wilbur surreptitiously casting a hand over his eyes.

“Wait- you’re being serious? They’ve ‘passed’ as in… as in…” 

“They’re dead.” Wilbur said the words Tommy couldn’t bring himself to. “George and- and  _ Dream _ ,” the latter of the two names felt poisonous on his tongue, “are dead.”

“No. No, you’re kidding. What? That can’t be true!” 

“What happened?” Tubbo asked quietly, his voice hoarse.

“I really don’t want to tell you this but- I guess if I don’t the media will still get a hold of it somehow soon. Dream- well- he wasn’t exactly the person that we thought he was. From what I’ve been told by Sapnap, he didn’t have the greatest childhood and- well- he would have these- these episodes where he wasn’t really in control and he- he killed people.”

Tommy gasped, “ _ What _ ?”. Tubbo looked like he’d seen a ghost. 

“They found _bodies_ in his garden. _Dead fucking_ _bodies_.” Wilbur muttered, his eyes glued to his hands.

“You’re saying that Dream - _our friend_ _Dream_ \- was a- was a _murderer_?” 

Wilbur only nodded in response, “Apparently he _loved_ George or something but he held him hostage and when he tried to escape- he- he _killed_ _him_ , but it was an accident, and then he called Nick and then- and then he killed himself too.” Wilbur couldn’t bring himself to look up and see the looks on their faces. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t tell anyone this.” Wilbur added, his voice cracking once again, “Nick- Sapnap and I- we’ve been talking since he told me yesterday. He’s only told me and Bad so far but he says he’s gonna try and tell a couple more people today. We’ll probably end up either doing a stream or tweeting something vague in a few days before anyone finds anything and I’m sure it will all blow up then so- just- be prepared for that.”

  
“ _ Jesus fucking Christ _ .” Tommy finally muttered, his voice cracking, breaking the silence they had fallen into. None of them knew what to do except sit there in shock. Even for Wilbur who had known for almost a day it was difficult to process it all. “I can’t believe it.” 

“Neither can I,” Will ran a hand through his hair, sleeve swiping across his cheek. He was breaking the news to these two  _ painfully _ young people that their friend, their  _ idol _ , had died and taken fifteen people with him. And here he was, sobbing when his friends needed him to be strong. “But, I’m here, okay?” He mustered, crouching on his knees by the arm of the sofa. “I know this is - well - this is a  _ lot _ and I’m still struggling to deal with it but you guys have got me, alright?” all Wilbur could hear was the soft sniffles coming from the three of them, none of them wanting to properly break down but all of them very much on the brink. “How about we watch a movie or something?” 

Tubbo nodded hesitantly, Tommy’s face remained buried in his hands. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s stone had just started on one of the channels and Wilbur quickly settled on it, knowing it was a favourite of all of theirs. He regretted it a few minutes later when he realised that it would be unlikely that any of them could watch it again without it triggering all these memories. He couldn’t bring himself to change it though, the damage had already been done. 

They spent the rest of the day like that; sat statue-still on the sofa, wordlessly following whatever was happening on the TV as a desperate attempt to distract themselves from their thoughts, the painful thoughts, the corrosive thoughts burning holes in anything else daring to enter their mind. A few minutes before their parents were due to arrive, Wilbur caved in and muted the TV, knowing he had to say something eventually.

“You don’t have to stream, you guys do know that, right? You are under no obligation to stream and film and pretend everything is okay for the sake of the fans. Take a couple weeks off, months - fuck it - if it’s too painful to go back then just don’t. People will understand. I promise. And if they don’t, I’ll make them understand.”

Tubbo offered him a slight smile, “I honestly don’t think I’ll be able to stream for a while,” He turned to Tommy, who agreed with him with a pensive look. 

“I know this has always been the case but even now -  _ especially _ now - I am always here for you. I always will be here for you so if you ever want to talk about it you can text or call me- I mean you could even just show up here if you really wanted to, I don’t go out that much,” He gave a weak laugh, “I know today has been shit, trust me I really do, but this feeling? It’s not gonna last. And I know it’s gonna be tough going onto the internet and seeing everyone talking about- about them like they always do, I mean especially when everyone finds out, but it will get better. I really fucking hope it will, at least.” Wilbur paused for a second, “would you like me to tell your parents, or do you wanna tell them yourselves?” He added, hearing his doorbell ring.

“Could you do it?” Tommy asked hesitantly, 

“Tubbo?” Wilbur turned to the shorter of the two,

Tubbo sighed, “Is that okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah- of course it’s okay. I’ll let them in now, alright?” The pair nodded. Wilbur watched them make whispered conversation as he brought Tommy’s mother and Tubbo’s father to the kitchen table and it was so painful. They were both normally so energetic, so excited, so full of life yet there they were sat, mere shells of what they used to be. 

The second time he had to repeat the story it was a little easier, especially when it was to understanding adults who gave him pitied looks and sympathetic smiles rather than - well - Tommy and Tubbo. He left a lot out this time, most notably the part where Dream was a  _ literal serial killer _ . It was easier that way, not to mention the reduced risk of it getting out prematurely because Wilbur was sure that the police wouldn’t be particularly happy if that happened, and almost as soon as he had let them in, Wilbur was left in an empty flat yet again. He forced down some toast and a glass of water before returning to his bed, only letting himself open texts on his phone to let Nick know how it had gone. Any form of social media would be far too painful.

*

Two days later, they got the go-ahead from the police to tell everyone. Sapnap knew that he had to be the one to do it, and as much as he hated it, he knew that he would have to stream. This was a matter too personal for a tweet, too raw for a video. It had to be a stream. Wilbur was sat in a call with him, Karl and Bad, minutes before he was due to go live, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. It felt like each nerve was on fire, his hands were trembling uncontrollably and every little sound from the outside world was making him jump.

“I don’t know if I can do this-  _ fuck _ !”

“Just- stick to the script, Sap. Read through what you’ve written and then it will all be over and done with, alright?” Bad’s voice was comforting, as were his words. Wilbur was glad that Sapnap had others like him.

“You got this.” Karl added softly, and it sounded an awful lot like he was trying his best to stop his voice from shaking.

“Okay. Alright.” Sapnap took an audibly deep breath, “I’ve tweeted out that I’m going live, the stream’s all ready- I’ve gotta do this, haven’t I?”

“It’s just a paragraph, and then you’re done, okay?” Wilbur could hear the emotion that Karl was likely trying to suppress for Sapnap’s sake. His phone screen lit up and aided to illuminate his largely dark room, curtains drawn, lights off. His PC emitted a soft blue glow, gently caressing his tear-stained cheeks as he stared with dreading anticipation at Sapnap’s twitch page. A quick glance down confirmed his suspicions that the notification was the tweet Nick had just posted; ‘going live in a minute to make an important announcement (twitch.tv/sapnap)’ and although he had forced himself to redownload twitter the other week, he hadn’t been able to open the application since that first phone call except to answer a few dms from close friends wondering where he had disappeared to.

“Okay.” Sapnap sighed, “I’m going live now. You guys are still good to remain in the call in case- in case-”  _ in case you start crying? In case you can’t do this?  _ Wilbur’s brain filled in the gaps with multiple iterations of similar phrases.

“Of course.” Wilbur reassured him, Bad mumbling words of agreement simultaneously. 

“Thank you- and the stream is live now. I should probably wait a few minutes before unmuting and- and telling them so more people can join.” 

Wilbur stared at Sapnap’s “starting soon” screen, letting the fire animation hypnotise him into lulled false-comfort as the viewers started to pour in. The unwavering positivity of the chat made him smile for a moment; none of them had a clue what he was announcing - or even that there was going to be an announcement in the first place and so speculation was rife. Some of the excited suggestions were plausible, some were even brilliant ideas, and some were a little further afield but the wholly joyful tone of the chat was nice. Wilbur hadn’t thought much was nice for almost a week now. 

“You can do this, Nick.” Karl attempted to comfort him, despite the fact that they all knew this was going to be anything but.

Nick cleared his throat, drawing Wilbur out of his daze, “I’m gonna start it now,” he said, and without a second more, without another moment for the thoughts of backing out, he started to speak. “Hi, everyone- uhh, thank you all for coming. I know most of what I do is- like- joking about and everything but this stream- this one is gonna be serious, alright? It’s not gonna be super long either, I just- we need to tell y’all something so just hang tight.”

The chat was now filled with a mixture of concerned messages, consolations and hearts.

“Okay. Dream and George- fuck,” he took a deep breath, before starting to read the prewritten words once again. “Dream and George are- are no longer with us. They both passed last week.” 

He paused once again, a deep breath registering faintly over the mic.

“I’m sure what happened will inevitably make its way out but just- please, all I ask is that y’all are respectful for George’s sake, for their families sake just- for everyone’s sake. I’ve been spending time with Dream’s family and- uhh- it’s hit them hard. It really has. I mean, damn, it’s hit me hard too,” He laughed drily in what Wilbur had come to know as an attempt to stifle tears, “I’m not gonna stream for a while. I don’t know if I’ll ever stream again without- without them to be honest- uhh- many of the people who are close to them- who  _ were _ close to them are probably also gonna be taking a break or something too.” There was what sounded like a sniffle, and then Sapnap muted himself. A few seconds later, a message came through in their group chat;  _ can one of you finish it off for me? I can’t do this anymore. Sorry.  _

“Yeah- umm, everything that Sapnap said- I’m also gonna be taking a break personally.” Wilbur wasn’t watching the chat anymore, he knew it would make him break down too. He just needed to finish off this stream. He pulled up the unfinished paragraph, skimming through as quickly as possible until he found where Nick had reached. “That was basically all, I - we - know this is probably hard for you guys to hear but this isn’t the sort of thing that should be kept from you, especially when- well- what happened will come out at some point but Sapnap only got permission from the police to do  _ this _ yesterday, so we’ve been trying to keep you guys informed as soon as you can. We- we didn’t want to hide anything from you guys, when it comes to this. We’re really sorry that we had to tell you this, this isn’t something that we ever thought that we would have to do but what’s happened has happened.”

He stuttered for a moment, that all-too-familiar lump lodging itself firmly into his throat.

“We’ve tried to- I’m sorry, there’s just no other way we really could have put this.”

“Thank you for coming, everyone.” Bad added quickly, before Sapnap ended the stream. 

They sat in silence for a second, each sinking into the collective exhale. The relief (if you could call it that) weighed heavy. 

“At least that’s out of the way, I guess.” Wilbur uttered softly.

“Are you alright, Nick?” Karl asked gently, and after a second, Sapnap unmuted himself.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He punctuated with a sniffle and a stifled sob. “I’m all good. At least I don’t need to feel bad for disappearing anymore.”

Wilbur murmured in agreement. There wasn’t anything he could say, not without sobbing himself. “You deserve time to grieve,” He finally managed to utter, hoping the tremor in his voice wasn’t too noticeable. “We all do.” 

Nick sniffed across the call, drawing a twinge from Wilbur’s chest.  _ God, he needed to sleep _ .

There’s another stretch of silence that underscored the distance between them all, until Bad squeaked out a strained goodbye, prompting them all to escape the call.

Wilbur sat back in his chair, pushing himself back from the desk and watching icons blink out of the call. He breathed in, trying to still his trembling hands. He knew full well Tommy and Tubbo were watching, that they were most likely in a private call trying to sort out emotions that had no place in the sixteen year old world of college and parties and girls. Not  _ this _ , whatever this was. 

_ Well,  _ this _ is deeply traumatizing _ , a small and spiteful voice chirped at the base of Wilbur’s skull. 

Wilbur suddenly registered the violent racing of his heart, and it broke the dam he had tentatively built during the stream.  _ He has to be responsible for some small part of this mess, too busy focusing on himself to realise what was going on.  _

Curled in on himself, Wilbur let go. 

He has to take care of Tommy, and Toby, and Nick, and everyone else, and the concept of the responsibility is crushing as it breaches the horizon. But for the moment, Wilbur can put it aside, and let himself be wrenched apart by the morbid absurdity of the situation. 

He turned off his phone, and all but threw under a sofa pillow far away from his bedroom. His mum could call him on landline, and the rest can contact him over discord. There is no way in  _ hell _ he’s putting himself through the inevitable tsunami of notifications and unwarranted messages.  _ He needs rest, and quiet. And sleep. _

When the sun rose the next day, Wilbur was already up.

*

Everything changed, and nothing did.

Tommy and Tubbo still stream all the time, Wilbur still releases music, Bad and Skeppy are still friends ‘til the end. The fans are still devoted. It’s been a year, and their collective fame has barely taken a hit. 

To Wilbur, at least, it’s shocking. It’s shocking that they’ve made it this far. Especially when he still feels so trapped in the void Dream and George left.

It’s not all the same. Wilbur has largely stepped back from streaming, focusing fully on music and gently pushing into the mainstream, something that had been somewhat of an abstract dream of his. Most have distanced themselves from Minecraft altogether - Tommy and Tubbo still play, but the rest have moved far onwards, if they even stream at all. Sap-  _ Nick _ doesn’t anymore. A three-month hiatus became a sixth-month hiatus became permanent. Instead, he finished his associates degree and interns at some fancy Texan tech company. His career prospects are just as bright as they were before.

Poetic justice, to a degree.

They all got to keep their own lives, their own progress. Even though Dream threw his down the drain.

And George’s too. 

Oddly enough, the whole situation brought them a little closer. The group splintered somewhat in the immediate fallout, but not dramatically - within the Minecraft Youtube sphere that had always been different cliques, and it was only natural for them each to fall back on those closest to them. But afterwards, when the dust had settled, they were drawn to each other again. 

It didn’t make that first month any less impossible. 

The fandom had all but imploded. There was a flurry of commentary as the whole affair seemed to prove too many people correct - that all these teenage fans actually  _ were _ a collective engine of destruction headed by an equally deranged leader. Unsurprisingly, some of the fans attempted to defend Dream, especially earlier on. How could it be that this serial killer was the same man who had brought them so much joy? Of course, their numbers only depleted as more and more evidence was made public, and finally the police made an official statement about the situation, confirming that the popular minecraft youtuber Dream is suspected to be behind those 14 deaths. Commentary channels flamed Dream stans for a final time, calling them deranged, accusing them of supporting a murderer. Those didn’t go down too well.

There were predation accusations posthumously levelled at Dream, as some began to question whether his relationship with the minors of the server were actually healthy, especially considering the sheer quantity of manipulation ‘storylines’ within the server. George’s family had given a sombre interview about their whole ordeal, inadvertently sending a slew of hate to the group. Internet safety became a hot button issue discussed ad nauseum on every single news station. 

Dream was crucified, quite rightly. Until suddenly they were all on the firing line. 

Wilbur had to issue a statement on the nature of his friendship with Tommy, supported by Tommy’s own parents, and after a barrage of blame fell on Sapnap, had to in turn defend Nick’s extended absence. 

In a surreal turn of events, Pewdiepie had gone out to bat for them all. With that level of support, much of the media storm eventually died out, as the three-week outrage news cycle drifted onwards. There was still plenty of vicious hate being sent their way, but at that point it was no longer interesting enough for popular media to warrant any real further discussion. There were memorials for Dream’s victims a month or so later once it was confirmed that he did indeed kill them all, and returned the matter to the public eye once again, forced another slew of headlines about the harmless minecraft youtuber who was actually a serial killer, but thankfully this was only temporary, and within a couple days the news died down once again.

By that point, Wilbur had been stretching himself far too thin, trying to keep Tubbo and Tommy and Nick afloat. The moment everything died down, when he was no longer needed for late-night calls and impromptu discussion, he sort of… fell apart. To the extent that Phil invited him to stay up north. Just in case.

The odd thing was that, six months down the line, everything sort of went back to normal. The Minecraft share prices had plummeted, but other than that, most of the group returned to streaming. Everything was on fire and then it… wasn’t. 

Everything was better. 

Not fixed, but better. 

The one year anniversary took Wilbur by surprise, at least. He can’t say the same for the others. It’s easier, because he’s expecting it - there had been a couple of snapchat memories that had thrown him wildly off course and almost undone a lot of progress. This time, however, they’re all expecting it to come and pass. Without too much drama.

There’s a small kerfuffle on twitter, something about posting inappropriate (read: Dream SMP related) fanart in memory, but other than that, it’s okay. The group sat in a discord call, watched a light-hearted movie, and signed off a little too late, just like any other standard Saturday evening. A couple of them are a little tipsy, but not worryingly so, and stay to talk a little while longer, and the conversation doesn’t steer dark as it so often has.

This time, Wilbur is out like a light the moment his head hits the pillow, and he sleeps long after the sun has risen.

Everything is better. Not fixed, but better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp that is the official end of Ouroboros! Thanks for coming along for the journey and we sincerely hope you enjoyed (and also aren't too emotionally devastated :3 )
> 
> \- Kat & Arti

**Author's Note:**

> And we're off! This is gonna be updated every day from now so subscribe or bookmark it if you're liking it I guess! 
> 
> Kat and Arti :)


End file.
